Take the Sky
by Knightfall1138
Summary: After several terrorist attacks on Alliance facilities, Malcolm Reynolds and his crew get caught in the middle of a conflict he had convinced himself was long dead.
1. Prelude: Truth From Above

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Prelude – Truth From Above**

* * *

It began as a dim light in the atmosphere, as bright as a distant satellite and moving just as slowly. Then that light intensified, pulsed, flashed like the landing lights of an L-Sung transport before dividing into a cluster of fiery comets that streaked directly downward toward the ground. The impact lit up the horizon with white light, turning Hera's darkest night into the brightest of days.

Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds watched it all, emotionless, unblinking, even as the thunderous concussions of the earthstrike roared passed him. The sudden static that hissed through his radio told no lies—

He had just watched a starship fall out of the sky.

"Strike one up for the bad guys," he muttered, making sure he was the only man in his squad that heard. Then, a bit more loudly, "All right, listen up!"

His men stood in the trench below, boots squishing around in thick mud. Their eyes were tired and their arms hung loose at their sides, but they still managed to look in Mal's direction. It was all he could hope for at this point.

"As you may or may not have noticed, our orbital reinforcement just kissed the dirt. That means we gotta work twice as hard for twice as long until our boys get another ship into position up there." Mal held up the handheld radio and let his men hear the static before he tossed it over his shoulder. "From what I'm guessing, might be a bit before they can jump to our aid. All we gotta do is hold out, make sure the Feds don't cross this line. If they _do_ cross this line, ain't no more offensive, 'cause we'll be on the defensive for a good long time. Can't let that happen."

"No, sir," came the reply.

"Won't let that happen, will we!" he roared back at them.

"_No, sir_!" they shouted in return.

Mal nodded. It had gone better than expected. The other officers had made a habit of telling their soldiers what they wanted to hear, instead of what they _needed_ to hear. Mal, contrary to the popular method, always preferred handing out the truth.

_The truth shall set you free_. And it let the troops know what they're fighting for. Mal didn't care for lying. The second you started lying to the soldiers who were paying for your new way of life with their own blood, that was when the real war was lost.

That was Mal's take, at least, and as far as he could tell he seemed to be in the minority concerning that opinion. But like he always told himself: the Independents started this war against the Alliance because they _knew_ they could make a better way for themselves, not because they _knew_ they could lie better.

Call it honor. Call it ignorance. Maybe he had just never been a great liar. Now was certainly not the time for practice.

"Everyone in positions," he ordered. "Weapons locked and hot. Put those rifles to your shoulders and mind those triggers." He walked along the rim of the trench, making sure everyone was readying up. "Remember: one shot, one kill. But if you have to, shoot 'em twice for laughs."

Mal casually jumped down into the trench. Not because he felt like it, but because he had spotted, out beyond the next hill, the slightest glint of a signaling lamp.

The next attack would be coming soon.

"Remember why you're fighting!" Mal said as his squad got into firing position. "We aren't fighting to keep our lands or to satisfy our pride. We're fighting for the future. For our families. For the idea of bringing our children into a piece of this 'Verse that we're able to call our own—because we _do_ own it. The spirit of it. The spirit that the Alliance, those gorram Feds, are trying to break. 直到太阳去世, we will not stop!"

As the cheering response sounded, a tremor moved under Mal's feet. He looked up just in time to watch a wall of fire move through the far end of the trench, consuming dozens of his soldiers, vaporizing some. He was knocked back and fell straight into the mud. The heat of the flames licked the nape of his neck and cooked the brown duster that clung to his back.

Screams filled the air, as well as the squishing and slurping sound of the troops running frantically around the trench. Some ran toward the wounded, a few simply retreated. He didn't blame them... Well, maybe he did. He didn't feel sore about it, though. Some people just react differently to seeing their friends blown apart.

Mal picked himself up and reached for his autorevolver. He pulled back the hammer and heard the the pack ring to life. Walking the trench, he could smell burned flesh and some kind of fuel. Looking up, he saw a slight dark pillar of smoke that led up into the sky and out of sight. They had just been hit from orbit.

_Looks like the Feds aim to take potshots at us, after all._ And here he was thinking they'd be above that.

One of Mal's soldiers ran up to him looking frightened beyond reason. For the life of him, Mal couldn't remember his name.

"We got wounded, sir!" the man shouted. "Medic's among the dead! I don't... I don't know what to do!"

Mal looked past the soldier and saw the human debris that littered the next several charred and bloody meters of the trench. He could see movement and life where there rightfully shouldn't have been. "Do what you can to make them comfortable."

That wasn't what the soldier wanted to hear. "But, sir, I—"

"Even if that means a bullet in the brainpan," Mal said evenly and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Either way, I need that weapon in your hands, soldier. We're still in the middle of a battlefield."

"Y-yes... Yes, sir..." The man spun around, half-confused, and rushed back to the wounded.

"Company!" Mal shot his gun in the air and mounted the lip of the trench. "Get ready to shoot yourselves some Feds!" He peered down the field and beheld the real tragedy of the situation.

After the orbital strike, he had only a handful of troops to his name, some rifles, pistols, and a few grenades. The Alliance, on the other hand, had three half-tracks, four RC-88 Gauntlet assault vehicles, and a full company of soldiers pointed straight at their trench, getting closer.

Mal cursed under his breath. At least the infantry wasn't armored. They could still kill a few people here. "We hold this position!" he said. "We hold! When you see those Feds get near enough, you do what you do best! Don't care if they're still breathing when your done with 'em, but if they are, I want them breathing dirt! Get me?"

"Yes, sir," the living bits of his squad replied reluctantly, weapons readied.

It was true: Mal never once lied to his soldiers. But, then again, he had never told the full truth neither. He spoke to his men as if the situation wasn't helpless—though it was. It really was.

He knew a great many things about this battle. He _knew_ that the Independents' cause was worth fighting for, worth dying for. He knew that Serenity Valley would be their real last stand, that there would be no other place in the 'Verse to fall back to.

Among many other things, he knew they wouldn't make it off this planet alive.


	2. Here's How It Is

_Here's how it is..._

Earth-that-was got all used up.

We moved out—terraformed and colonized hundreds of new earths; some rich and flush with life and new technologies, some... not so much.

The central planets—them as formed the Alliance—decided all the planets had to join under their rule.

There was some disagreement on that point.

After the Unification War, many of the Independents who had fought and lost drifted to the edges of civilization, far from Alliance Control. Among them, myself.

I'm Malcolm Reynolds, captain of _Serenity_. Got myself a crew: my first mate, a bonafide companion, a mechanic, some muscle. Got ourselves a doctor, too, and his sister, who's been the source of most our misfortune of late. Alliance screwed her up pretty bad, now they're fixing to do the same to us. Some would argue they're succeeding.

Living now the way we always have: we get a job, use these here guns to help us keep it, and stay fed as best we can—

All so's we can keep flying.


	3. Smoke on the Horizon

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter One – Smoke on the Horizon**

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅 -

* * *

"_Talos Station, this is heavy freighter one-one-two-three requesting permission to land."_

The operator quickly dove into his interface, sweeping past all of the day's prospective landings to find the one he needed. Near the back of the list, he found 1123's manifest and transport brief. He pushed toward it, selected it, and brought up all the information he'd need to ensure a by-the-books landing.

"Roger that," the operator said into his headset. "Heavy freighter one-one-two-three, please authenticate." As he looked down the manifest, he recognized the name of the pilot. He must be tired; he didn't even recognize his old friend's voice.

_"Authenticate: echo-three-three-niner-four-two, come back."_

"Darnel, is that you?" the operator asked.

_"Keith! I thought that was you, but I haven't heard one cough out you my whole descent. What's up with that?"_ Darnel, the pilot, asked.

Keith directed him to the landing dock outside his own window. It would make things easier when he went down to shake his hand. "Confirm landing orders."

_"I'm green for landing bay five."_

"Confirmed. Yeah, I quit smoking a few months ago."

_"You're kidding."_

"Nope. Ninety-one days."

_"Two hours, ten minutes, fifty-seven seconds..."_

Keith laughed. "Shut the hell up and land your gorram ship."

_"We going to the saloon?"_ Darnel asked, hopeful.

Keith shook his head. The massive overhead curtains of the hangar bay parted and Darnel's ship began lowering down onto the landing pad. It was a mostly rectangular starship with four massive fan thrusters at each corner. At its front, there was only a small protuberance and two viewports to indicate its cockpit. He could just barely make out his friend's face through the window. They briefly waved at each other.

"I'm still on the clock, my friend. How long are you docked?"

_"Until tomorrow. Last run of the season before I can get some time off."_

"Vacation, huh?" Keith wished he could do the same. "Any place in mind?"

_"I think its still summer over at Zeguma Beach. Always wanted to go there."_

"It's summer there for most of its year, I think the odds are in your favor."

_"Right."_ Darnel was quiet over the comm for a moment. _"Hey, does your screen have any info as to why I got rerouted?"_

Keith was still thinking of Zeguma Beach. "What? What did you say?"

_"I got rerouted halfway to Relanor by the office. Sent me over to Drasden."_

"Drasden?" Keith flicked through his panel, trying to find any sort of reason for the rerouting. Usually, stuff like that would have popped up immediately on the action window. "I'm not seeing anything, Darn. Maybe they never updated your schedule."

_"Maybe. It was just weird, is all. My cargo was a few kilos over what it shoulda been, too."_

"They probably got the wrong ship on the transponder. I wouldn't worry about—" Keith noticed a red flag off in one corner of his panel. He enhanced it and brought it to the front of the screen. His brow rose as he read the words. "Darn, it says here that you never made pickup."

_"What!"_ Darnel was hysterical. _"What in the Nine Hells are you talking about, mister?"_

"The office put out a distress call on your ship. They lost track of you and your cargo is still sitting on Relanor, apparently."

_"You've gotta be sh—"_

The comm fizzled and went linkdead. The window in front of Keith flared up into the brightest shade of orange, then it bubbled with the heat, and shattered. The air around him became superheated and he was burned away by the flame.

The entire starport was torn to pieces.

–

Beneath the enthusiastic chants of street merchants, the whining of mopeds, and the flickering holograms of outdated advertisements, Malcolm Reynolds was barely able to pick out the sound of the explosion that had just consumed a starport on the other side of the city.

"You hear that?" he asked, looking around for anything that might have made the noise.

Simon Tam looked at him, stowing his nervousness to relay confusion. "Hear what?"

"I guess it... must'a just been a fly or something." He waved his hand around his face. "The stink of your fear's probably attracting them, gettin' them all twitterpated."

Simon shook his head in protest. "I'm not afraid."

"No one said you was." Mal pointed to Simon's hands. "Your hands are shakin' like you just choked a snowman."

"Captain, I've accompanied you on several of your less-than-safe meetings and I'm still breathing. This is no different."

"It's not."

"It's not." Simon shook his head again.

"You're right." Mal smiled, doing his best not to laugh incessantly at the doctor. And, oh, how he wanted to. "_You're_ the one who wanted to come along."

"Yes, I did."

"Made a reasonable fuss about it, too."

"Yes."

"Even blackmailed me into keeping you in tow."

"Y—" Simon shrugged. "A little."

"Let me tell you, Doctor—" Mal pointed up toward the sky. "—you name any dirtball in the 'Verse and I've been double crossed on it, and likely taken a bullet on it, too. But the stuff you pulled... I don't even think there's a word for what I'm feeling right now."

"Anger?"

"Among other things."

With most of the crew out buying more supplies, Simon had been left with little to do on _Serenity_, save for watching Jayne hold Vera over his head while he posed for pictures. Remembering that Mal had a meeting with Badger, he decided he'd much rather risk getting shot than watch Jayne try and fail for the fortieth time to get a girl's call number.

"Mal," he had said back on the ship, having already worked up the courage, "I want to go with you to Badger's place."

Mal had grinned warmly, but it was quick to fade. "Lemme think about that... uhhhh— No." He brushed past Simon on his way out of the cargo hold. "Can't do your doctorin' if you get yourself shot. And if'n you do, trust me, you don't want me to be the one searching for a bullet inside you. These hands ain't so delicate." He kept on walking.

"Captain. Mal!"

"Nope!" Mal stuck his fingers in his ears and strolled down the ramp. "Your captain's will be done!"

"I'll tell Kaylee who ate her last strawberry!"

"Y—" Mal had stopped mid-stride. His fingers dropped out of his ears and he turned on his heels, slowly. His gaze went firm, dark. He walked back to face Simon, who took a step back despite himself. For a while, all Mal did was stare, breathing exclusively through his nose. Then, finally, he had said, "Hey, _Doctor_, would you do me the greatest of favors and accompany me to Badger's place?"

It had been a small victory for Simon, but Mal was intent not to let it go.

"Just 'cause you got the dirt on me once doesn't mean it'll work a second," Mal grunted.

Simon nodded. "As you say, Captain." He grinned a little, prompting Mal to wonder what else the doctor might be privy to.

"Hope you get shot." Mal turned around and once again rapped on the door to Badger's hideout. He found it odd that there were no guards outside the hideout, which had always been a given in the past. Something didn't feel quite right. "God, what's the holdup? You'd think he's doing something illegal in there." He kicked the door with his foot. "Badger! You piece of 粪便, get your ass out—"

The door was flung open and the barrel of a shotgun was aimed at Mal's face. The man holding it was a long-haired thug with scars up and down his neck and cheeks. "The hell do you want?"

Mal raised his hands and shrugged. "Only to know how to love you better." The shotgun was cocked. "What do you think I'm here for? Some coin of mine is burnin' a hole in Badger's pocket right now. Just want to pick it up and we'll go our merry way."

"He ain't here," the thug grunted.

"Forgive my mistake in thinking he'd be looming around his own place of business." Mal didn't like where this confrontation might be going. Either this thug was a signpost or Badger had something going on inside and didn't want visitors marching in. In any case, this man was getting in the way of Mal getting paid. "If he ain't about, then would you kindly send me in his direction?"

The barrel of the gun was pressed up against Mal's chest. The thug bared his teeth. "_Leave._"

Without breaking eye contact, Mal's hand gracefully flew down and engaged the safety switch on the gun. When the thug looked down to figure out why the trigger had locked up, Mal yanked the barrel downward, pulling it from the man's grip, and flipped it butt-over-barrel until it was safely in his hands, aimed at its owner. He flipped the safety switch back off.

Mal could have sat there all day and savored the look of utter surprise that had come over Badger's thug. "I probably won't ask again," he said and cocked the gun one more time, just because. "I'd like to speak with Badger, please."

Before the man could say anything, a familiar voice echoed down the corridor. "That Reynolds I'm hearin'?" Badger was slow to appear in the doorway, but when he did he looked exhausted. He still wore his moth-eaten suit, greasy tie, but sported a new top hat that Mal hadn't seen before. "'Course it is. You lookin' to gun my man down, Mal? He's got a wife and two kids, you know," he said, sounding bored.

"Now, that does surprise me." Mal pumped the gun a few times to eject all the ammo and then handed it back to the thug. "Don't get so close with that thing next time."

Badger waved Mal and Simon inside. "Hurry it up. Come on."

Mal looked to Simon, who was standing completely still, mouth agape, and gripping his collar nervously. "You said you wanted to come." He walked inside with the doctor following close behind.

In the main room, Badger made a motion for the guards to stand down, and he moved behind his desk with peculiar haste. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Reynolds—"

"This time," Mal finished, drawing a grin out of Badger.

"This time," he echoed. "I've got to be getting myself offworld for a time. You're lucky you came when you did."

"Seems like you were fixin' to leave us penniless, Badger. Our luck, or your misfortune?"

"I don't do that. I don't make off with money that's not rightfully mine."

"I'd argue that point, but okay." Mal looped his thumbs around his belt and took a look around. Almost all of Badger's little trinkets and maps and trophies were gone off the walls. The bastard really was running off. "I take it circumstances have changed?"

Badger pulled a few drawers out of his desk. "You would know, wouldn't you."

That caught Mal by surprise. "Would I?" He looked over to Simon, who threw up his hands. "Feelin' the heat from something, Badger?"

Badger looked up for a moment, as if confused by what Mal was saying. He smiled. "You don't know."

"Know what?"

Badger held out his hands. "It's none of my business. And if it's really none of yours either, keep it that way." He finally pulled a stack of cash out from a compartment in his desk. He strolled around and shoved it in Mal's hand. "There you go. What I owe you for the last job, plus interest. My parting gift to you."

Mal looked down at the money as if it burned his hand. Badger being generous? It was about as likely as there being a vegan Reaver somewhere in the 'Verse. "Wait..."

Badger tipped his hat. "Pleasure doin' business with you and yours, Reynolds. Maybe I'll have more jobs for you when all is said and done, yeah?" He picked up a few bags from a corner of the room and said to his guards, "Let's be off, gents."

The room was cleared, leaving Mal and Simon alone in the room. The ventilator fan overhead powered down and screeched to a stop. Mal looked down at the money in his hand, then to Simon, then back to the cash again. "What the hell just happened?"

–

Mal and Simon made their way back toward _Serenity_, taking only one shortcut so they could get a quick bite to eat. Mal sauntered along, chewing on the end of a wooden skewer that still held the faintest taste of the chicken teriyaki he had just scarfed down. His belly was full—for the first time in a while—but his mind was blank. After what he had just seen at Badger's, he didn't quite know what to think anymore.

Simon was twirling a pair of chopsticks around in some chow mein, looking up every now and then to look where he was going and to see if Mal had snapped out of his trance yet. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah..." Mal stopped walking and looked down at his boots, then up at the sky. Something just didn't seem right in the world. "You know how much extra he paid us?"

"Yes." Simon stuffed the rest of the noodles into his mouth. "You made me count it twice already."

"Yeah! It doesn't make any sense." He pointed back down the road. "Every job I've ever taken from that man has either almost killed me or bankrupted me. But you know why I keep goin' back?"

"Because you're desperate and he pays decently well."

Mal let a beat of silence pass between them. "You're half right."

"About which part?"

Mal set his jaw and knocked the bowl out of Simon's hands. He stared down the doctor. "That was an empty bowl, wasn't it?"

Simon nodded. "Yep."

"I was kinda goin' for dramatics."

Simon tossed his chopsticks in a nearby trash can. "I had figured as much."

"And... yeah, I should probably..." Mal bent over, picked up the bowl and threw it away in the can, as well. "Don't wanna get fined or nothing."

"Right."

"But that don't bother you?" Mal asked, incredulously.

"The littering?"

"No! Do you know how much he paid us!"

"Yes! You—" Simon rubbed his brow like he was getting a headache. "Is this really bothering you that much? Even people like Badger are capable of one decent act in a lifetime." Mal snorted at this. Simon continued. "We needed that money, anyway."

"I know," Mal sighed.

"Miranda did a lot for us—to us—but we're sort of... coming to the end of that ride. That line of charity's starting to dry up. Reporters stopped calling a while ago, donations stopped coming in. I'm not even sure Jayne's fan club is still around anymore."

"The existence of which... _still_ keeps me up at night."

Simon smiled. "We just have to take good fortune as it comes. I know it's hard for you to see it these days, and I don't blame you. But it happens. Even for Malcolm Reynolds."

There had always been something lodged deep into Mal's head that had prevented him from seeing Simon the way he should. Perhaps it was the circumstances of the Tams' arrival and how seemingly every day afterward brought new dangers, enemies—death, even...

He always kept Simon and River just a bit farther than arm's length, because something told him not to get too close to them. Something would happen, and they'd be gone. Just like...

Mal shook the images away and clapped Simon on the shoulder, grateful for the company. "The sun must rise sometime, huh?"

"Yeah," said Simon. "But, for you, I think once a day might be pushing it."


	4. Heroes Once

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Two – Heroes Once**

* * *

Kaywinnet Lee Frye sat on a lounging chair just below the loading ramp of the firefly-class starship. With everyone gone, she thought it would be safe to retract the ramp just enough to give herself some shade. Persephone was a marvelously shiny planet with tall, blue glass towers breaking the horizon wherever one did turn, but the Zhang Fei Market District, centered neatly in the planet's northwestern hemisphere, was a dry, dusty place and almost always hot.

She had briefly considered whether or not sitting next to _Serenity_'s thermal exhaust would be a tad cooler.

Kaylee snorted. Sitting next to the thermal exhaust. You could cook an egg in its shell just one meter away from one of the fan thrusters. That would be a pretty silly thing to do, even rhetorically.

Another pedestrian passed close enough to the ship. Kaylee got up, brushed off her green overalls, and marched over to meet the old man as fast as she could, and as gracefully as she could afford. _First impressions_, the captain always told her. _First impressions are the difference between having food and dining on napkins dipped in condiments._

She still got the chills from thinking about that particularly desperate dinner.

"Good evening, sir!" she said as she bounded up.

The man pushed back his hat and checked a small pocketwatch. "It's still morning, isn't it?"

"Ah..." Kaylee looked up at the sun and found it was, indeed, still rising from the east. She waggled her finger at it, remembering her internal clock was still off. "Right! Morning it is! And how _are_ you this fine morning, sir?"

"I'm not interested." He stroked his curled mustache and took a few steps away.

"You're not interested in how you're feeling?" Kaylee asked.

"No, I'm not interested in buying passage on a firefly."

"On a..." Kaylee tried as hard as she could to figure out how that was a deterring factor. "But, sir, this is the finest space-faring vessel this side of the Copernicus Run. With all I've done to her, we can make a ride clear out to Whitefall in just a few days. Not weeks, _days._"

The man shook his head and checked his pocketwatch again. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm really not interested in..." His voice trailed off. He took a few more steps to his right and gleaned the wording on the side of the firefly-class. "This is..." He paused for a moment, disbelieving. "This is _the_ _Serenity_? The one at the Battle of Shilo Four? The Reaver attack?"

Kaylee smiled and pushed her hair back. "The same."

"Extraordinary." He tipped his hat. "You folks did the Alliance proud that day. Good fortune to you." He turned away toward the next street.

Kaylee glared at the back of the man's head, stuck her hands on her hips, and pouted. "Good thing the captain wasn't around to hear that. Would'a... yanked that fancy-pants mustache right off your face."

She let the man go; there was always next time. Plenty of fish in the sea, but if she didn't snag at least one of those fishies before Captain Reynolds returned, she'd catch an earful. Unless he came back with another job for them, taking on a few passengers would help balance the budget. She wanted to be able to eat well for a day, buy some new clothes.

Heck, the last thing she was able to get for herself was that slinky dress, but it wasn't good for much else these days than hanging up in her room, collecting dust.

It was still pretty, though.

She at least wanted to get enough to buy herself some more strawberries, seeing how her last one up and disappeared into thin air. Unless someone...

Kaylee tried to think who the culprit might be while she headed back to her chair. She found Jayne hanging off the edge of the retracted ramp, his feet dangling a few feet off the ground, trying desperately to pull himself up inside the ship.

"Kaylee, what the hell happened to the ruttin' ramp!" Jayne shouted through the strain. He was just barely able to pull his chin up over the edge. "I need to use the gorram can!"

–

River Tam's fingers darted across the console, transferring power between the various systems of the ship, back and forth and back again. All the hatches were open, no need for life support. Engines were powered down, drain some away from that to balance the climate controllers. With the cargo bay door open, the heated air seeped inside, rose, polluted the upper deck, threw everything off balance.

The air on the upper deck, in the cockpit, was three degrees over room temperature. She manually powered up two of the climate controllers in the corridor over the living quarters and brought the temperature back down to stable conditions.

She nodded. Everything had been balanced out. Balanced. A hyperbolic yin and yang within the holds of the ship. Everything in perfect serenity.

Her hands stopped, and for the first time since they landed she breathed a sigh of relief. She could rest now, but only for a moment.

A very brief moment.

River's hands landed on the flat surface just above the ship's control yoke, and she swiveled around in the pilot's seat anxiously. The seat started to squeak. She stopped swiveling.

She wished Simon was back. She was worried.

At the top of the navigation console in front of the pilot's seat was a collection of plastic dinosaurs that had since been glued in place. River's eyes darted back in between them. Though anatomically incorrect, one was obviously a stegosaurus. The other, to her dismay, looked to be a tyrannosaurus rex.

"Impossible," she blurted out. Two different dinosaurs from opposite ends of the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods should not be standing together_—__could_ not be. Unless that space between them was in flux and represented an 80 million year timeshift, nothing of what she was seeing made any sense. She slammed her hands on the console and leaned over to scream at the dinosaurs, "Your existence is problematic!"

She settled back down in her seat and crossed her arms.

She missed Simon.

It would be another few minutes before the temperature changes in the lower and upper decks would be varied enough for recalibration. In the meantime, she told herself that the dinosaur wasn't a tyrannosaurus rex, it was an allosaurus. That would make sense. Perfect sense.

No timeflux needed. The universe and the laws that govern it needn't be destroyed.

The dinosaurs could stay on the console.

It was then that River surprised herself. She had just made a concession. In the midst of a choice between the rational and the irrational, she chose irrational—albeit halfheartedly. It was still _something_, though.

Her mind was being given back to her, little by little. She knew it. How? Because she hadn't knocked the dinosaurs off the console, first off. But also because she remembered _why_ they were there—and, more importantly, _who_ put them there.

She watched as hands arose from memory to grip the two dinosaurs, manipulating the toys down the console to where the light control panel was located.

The tyrannosaurus stomped hard against the console. _"Welcome, filthy leaf-eater, to my lab-o-ratory."_

_"No!"_ The stegosaurus started to shiver. _"You fiend! You promised a grand salad bar!"_

_"A grand salad bar, yes! You will find it just past the blackjack table... IN HELL!"_ The rex stomped down on the controls and the lights in the cockpit flickered on and off, while the stegosaurus screamed in agony and the rex laughed maniacally into the air. _"Burn for it, you silly herbivore!"_

_ "Arrgh! Curse your inevitable betra— Oh, hey!"_ Wash tossed the dinosaurs aside, red with embarrassment when he noticed River had been watching him. _"Didn't see you there—"_

River woke up, slumped over in the pilot's seat. Her eyes were tired and she could still hear Mister Wash in her mind. She sat up straight and looked at the controls. The temperature below decks was all over the place!

"Oh, no you don't. No, no, no." Her fingers darted across the console, transferring power around the ship back and forth and back again.

–

The shopkeeper coughed to bring Zoe Washburne's attention back to the counter. "Made up your mind?"

Zoe looked up, past the dark curls of her hair that now blocked her face, and glared at the pudgy man. "About what?"

The shopkeeper's hands waved around. "You've been standing there for a while. Is there anything I can help you find?"

She shook her head. "I'm just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

Zoe sneered, becoming very frustrated in an instant. "Does it matter? Should I go somewhere else?"

"Hey." The shopkeeper shrugged and held up his hands. "No business of mine. Sorry. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," she replied, sternly.

The shop was cluttered with various odds and ends. Clothes on one wall, musical instruments on another. There was even a small bit of the floor set aside for ship parts, but they looked like they were for obsolete models. The place was pretty much full of trash. The place itself _was_ trash, but it was the closest pawn shop to where the _Serenity_ was berthed.

She didn't want to spend all of her shore leave wandering around for the right shop, and she certainly didn't want to give herself more time to remain in conflict.

It was now or never.

"I'd like to sell something, if I could," Zoe said.

The shopkeeper didn't look like he was in the mood for business anymore, but he still forced a smile. "What would you like to sell?"

Zoe approached the counter, drumming her fingers nervously across it until she all but forced herself to reach up and untie the leather ornament around her neck. "This," she said.

The man picked it up and looked it over, slightly confused by it. "Is this one of those... like, if you don't want to get a ring?"

"Yes." She nodded solemnly. "It symbolizes the bond of marriage."

"Ah, I see." He took a closer look at it and appeared to be pleased. "Didn't work out, huh?"

Zoe wrung her hands, suddenly very nervous about letting the pudgy man hold that necklace. "It worked," she said, out of breath. "For as long as it could have, it worked very well."

The man looked up as if he didn't understand what she had said. He shrugged and put it back on the counter. "Don't see many of these. Popular amongst certain religions, sometimes with gunslingers who don't like a ring messing up their aim. Popular, but not many care to sell 'em." He thought for a moment and said, "You seem like a nice lady. I'll give you fifty for it."

Fifty credits. Is that what it was worth to buy herself some peace of mind? There wasn't even a good chance that getting rid of that necklace would change much of anything. Even now, feeling the cool air caress the spot on her neck where the leather ornament had been left her feeling disarmed in a way. Like she was staring down the barrel of a gun with only a knife to protect herself.

She felt... alone.

Afraid. Unable—unwilling, perhaps—to even so much as move or speak.

Or breathe.

The shopkeeper coughed again, looking a bit perturbed. "You want to get rid of it or what?"

It wasn't like Zoe was selling her memories, or her time together with her husband. Nothing was changing other than her neck would be a bit more exposed from now on. She would even make some decent money from it, which the crew could absolutely use.

But still, she just couldn't say the words. It wasn't a necklace that was sitting on the counter. In her mind, all she saw was Hoban's smile, his laugh, and his tenderness_—_all of it up for sale.

"So?" the shopkeeper asked again. "What'll it be?"

Zoe looked down at the necklace one more time.

–

When Mal saw Kaylee sitting at the bottom of the ramp, he turned to Simon and brought him close enough for whispers. He shoved a small wooden box in the doctor's hands and and slapped him on the back. "Why don't you give these strawberries to Kaylee for me," he said. "It'll get you a few points, methinks."

"What?" Simon looked down at the box, in awe. "I... I don't know what to say. She'll love these."

"Ain't much in the 'Verse that the girl truly loves. One is you, the other are those berries." Mal tapped the box with a finger. "Getting both at once will be like... Super-Christmas for her."

"Super—?"

"Just go." Mal pushed the doctor toward his mechanic girlfriend. "I'm gonna get the ship prepped for launch."

"Okay, Captain." Simon was beaming. "Thank you very much."

Mal shooed him away. "Get yourself over there, Doctor Love. Go!"

Simon practically bounded over to Kaylee, smiling widely and already holding his arms out for a hug. Kaylee seemed just as happy, if not more so. She threw herself up and the doctor caught her in his embrace. They lovingly kissed a few times before Simon showed her the box.

"A little birdie told me you had run out," said Simon, and opened the box to reveal five large strawberries.

Kaylee awed the sight like a kid at a candy store window. She clapped and giggled to herself. "Thank you! Thank you!" she said. "How did you know?"

Before Simon could form an answer, he saw Mal approach out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, perhaps instinctually, his face went blank.

"Well, I had to make sure he bought you some more," Mal said, looking as concerned as a loving father would his children. "Saw our doctor-cum-thief sneak your last strawberry in the middle of the night and make off with it."

Simon's eyes went wide. Wider than when Badger's thug had produced that shotgun in the doorway. His face: pure horror. Mal would savor that forever. "No! _He_—!"

Mal cut him off. "I made sure he knew how much those little red things mean to our little Kaylee and insisted that when we landed he would replace your stock, and then some." He leaned over and kissed Kaylee on the head. "Just lookin' out for you, kiddo. If you two will excuse me." When he had safely turned away, he let himself smile.

"No!" Simon shouted. "That's a lie! I saw him—ugh!" His voice dropped off suddenly when Kaylee shoved him almost completely off the ramp. "_He's_ the one who did it!"

Mal laughed triumphantly when he entered the cargo bay. His revenge was accomplished, and he was pleased. "Your captain's will be done!" He ascended the steps to the upper deck, passing Jayne along the way. "What's the news?" he asked.

Jayne grunted, clutching his stomach. "A ruined pair of britches, no thanks to yer mechanic."

Mal thought it best not to ask Jayne to explain, and moved on to the cockpit. As he expected, he found River sitting in the pilot's seat doing something crazy-like. Her hands were flipping various switches so fast he wasn't even sure what she was doing to the ship. "They say if you flip some of those in the right order the ship explodes."

"Unlikely," came the reply, and she continued on.

"Your brother's down on the loading ramp, Little Albatross."

River's hands immediately stopped working. She exhaled, loudly, and looked up at Mal with a smile. "Thanks."

"Huh." Mal chuckled and planted himself in the copilot's seat. "Seen that smile more and more as the days do fly. Don't know if I should be worried or overjoyed."

River shook her head. "I'm not sure either."

Mal leaned forward. "No more nightmares?"

She shook her head. "Nightmares, yes, those. But not the bad ones. The nightmares... belong to me. They're mine"

"Well, that's all we can hope for. At least they're not someone else's, huh?"

River looked up, as if that answer should be obvious.

"No doubt," Mal said. "Why don't you go see your brother. I'm gonna ready us to get offworld."

River nodded and began to leave the cockpit. At the doorway, she turned and pointed to the console before Mal could touch it. "Don't break serenity, it's not easy to get it back."

"I..." Mal kept his hands off the panel and shrugged. "Don't plan on breaking her, little one. That 'captain' title I got myself isn't just for show, I know how to pilot my ship."

"No..." River shook her head, fighting with herself. "Never mind." She turned and ran away down the corridor.

"Well, that was... to be expected." Mal took up the pilot's seat and began getting all the systems primed for liftoff. It took a while; power had been rerouted all over the place. _The things kids do these days for fun..._

Absently, he flipped on the cortex and connected it to Persephone's news feed. The first article that streamed through was an emergency alert that detailed a deadly terrorist attack on a nearby spaceport. The entire facility had been rendered useless and suspects were sparse, but a few groups had already taken credit for it. They always did.

Mal turned it off. _Serenity_ was ready to go, and Inara was the only loose end. He checked the time and saw that she still had a few minutes to go before she was late. He tried to imagine what she was doing right then, and he didn't care for what his mind came up with.


	5. Leave It Behind

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Three – Leave It Behind**

* * *

Her name was Charon MacKindle. She was a young, early-thirties media organizer who had only recently come into quite a bit of money; enough to get herself into the engagement she was in right now, that is. She was very beautiful, and for being in a very cutthroat sector of the media business, she had a kind soul. It was a rare thing to find so many unique qualities converge into one human being—which is exactly why Inara Serra had chosen her from the list.

She kissed Inara's lips as though she had never known true love before, but to the companion, it was a one-sided affair, though she didn't care if her client thought otherwise. An engagement was all about finding those moments of serenity between two spirits, discovering where they intersected and embracing those similarities. It was what made an engagement with a companion more than just a sexual experience; it bordered on transcendence and an adventure in self-discovery.

Inara remembered relaying all of this to Malcolm Reynolds, in the hopes that he'd finally come to understand her profession. But he wouldn't hear any of it. He had smirked, poured himself a cup of tea, and brushed it all off as "whorespeak."

Just the thought of that encounter made her groan.

"Is something wrong?" Charon asked as she relaxed her head upon Inara's shoulder.

Inara smiled, slightly embarrassed but she didn't show it. At all. "Nothing could be wrong."

Charon seemed to remember something and rolled over on the bed to check her discarded clothes. She pulled out a watch and checked the time. "We're twenty-five minutes over." She looked over with a sad gaze. "I'm sorry I've kept you."

"Don't be," Inara replied gently. "You're here for an experience. Such things cannot be rushed."

Charon grinned and pushed her brown hair back over her ears. "And I thank you for that. This day has been one of the best of my life." She gripped at the air, becoming excited. "I just feel born again. With work and all, you know... Day in and day out, you just feel like you become who _they_ want you to be. You start to lose yourself."

Inara scooted up behind her and brought her arm around Charon's bare chest. "And how do you feel now?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"Better," Charon said, and laughed just a little. "I feel like... _me _again." She kissed Inara one more time and got dressed without another word. It wasn't rudeness, Inara understood, the girl was just emotional, thoughtful. The companion would likely receive a well-worded "Thank You" letter a few weeks later, and _that_ would be the true end of their engagement.

Charon left the shuttle. Her parting gesture: a kind smile.

Inara, herself, felt completely at ease. It had been months since she'd been able to have a client of any kind who wasn't just a rich fan of hers. The much-talked-about Battle of Shilo Four had not only brought grief to her home-life, but to her workplace, as well. It was difficult to have a rewarding engagement when most of the people ended up hiring her purely for bragging rights.

They called her a hero. But, really, in what sense was she? Circumstance had brought her back to _Serenity_. That's how she saw it. They can call her a hero, but it was all whim and circumstance that threw her name into every feed running through the cortex for a week.

The Heroes of _Serenity_ outed a corrupt Parliament. The administration was dissolved, replaced. A few key members were executed, and that was that. Miranda still floats out there as the first Celestial Monument, and people still jettison tribute into space toward its atmosphere from lightyears away, but the fervor that the tragedy caused was beginning to die down. Inara wasn't a Hero of _Serenity_ anymore; to Charon, she was a kindly guide, and that's the way she wanted it.

It was the only real justice that came out of that whole ordeal: that many honest people were able to get on with their lives.

The crew of _Serenity_ and the Tams, especially—however injured they all might have been afterward.

Speaking of _Serenity_...

It was true that Inara tried not to put a time limit on her engagements, but she secretly kept to one for her friends' sakes. When there was work to be done, it was hard to tell Mal or Zoe or Kaylee that she'd be back _whenever_, and to wait for her in the meantime.

No, she could never do that. And she was running a bit late.

She threw on her silk robe and got the shuttle ready to leave the landing platform. In the back of her mind, she could already hear the insults that Mal would have ready for her when she docked. It was already giving her a headache.

–

Mal killed time by thinking up new insults for Inara while the cortex pinged Beaumonde. He lay in his bunk with the shutter to his quarters closed, tossing an apple up and down to keep himself awake. When the insult game wore off, he occupied his mind with other things. Where was Badger going? Why did he leave?

Where should Mal himself be going? With the money they made, they really could park _Serenity_ on a nice world with a quaint resort and just kick back for a week or two. Give his crew a chance to unwind, which, the more he thought about it, they really could use.

That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? Make it a surprise.

"Yeah, that would work." He threw the apple into the air again, but this time he missed and it fell back to bump him on the forehead. "Bastard," he said to the apple, rubbing his head. "I'll learn you to do that to your captain." He playfully bit into the apple, but as his teeth sank into it, he froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a chill snapped down his spine, his pulse quickened.

He could see their faces. He could hear that seemingly distant popping sounds as the grizwalds hidden in the fruit exploded between their teeth, painting the trench with his soldiers.

Mal pulled the apple away, looking at the teeth marks in the thing for a good long time. He stared at it as if he was staring down the enemy... but he wasn't. Not really. He brought the apple closer, sniffed it. He gathered up his courage and bit down into it until he had pulled a chunk free into his mouth.

He chewed. Slowly. How long had it been since he'd eaten an apple without a knife? He wondered if that said something about himself, seeing that he had briefly forgotten about _why_. He would never forget why, but he had for that moment.

"Weird," he said, chewing. He tossed the rest of the apple into the wastebin.

Just then, the cortex chimed with a successful connection. Mal sat up in his bunk, engaged the call and a man with dark, slicked back hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee appeared on the screen.

_"Captain Reynolds,"_ the man said, smiling. _"It's an honor to hear from one of the Alliance's bravest and boldest of heroes."_

Mal feigned laughter. "Every time we speak over the cortex, Mingo, I get the urge to shoot this image of you square in the forehead."

_"Funny. I'm Fanty, anyway."_

"You're Mingo, and I ain't got time for this." Mal sat himself on the edge of his bed. "The two of you keep a great many tabs on Badger. Why is it he's dusting Persephone all the sudden?"

_"You mean, besides his much-envied business ethic? I've got no clue, precious."_

"See, that's where you sell yourself short, because you _do_ have a clue. You boys ride Badger's moth-eaten coattails so much they's practically tearing off. You _know_ why he's leaving in a hurry."

Mingo looked off to somewhere off-screen, then looked back. Mal saw nervousness there. _"We've got to stop meeting like this, Captain Reynolds. You know as well as I do that you're bad for rutting business, aren't ya? You've got the Alliance singing praises to you from all ends of the Core. Who's to say you ain't been in their pocket since that Miranda business?"_

"If you was thinking with that brain of yours, you'd know that ain't true." Mal was standing now, his eyes showing anger. "You were at the Maidenhead. You saw what I got myself into. You know what I lost, and that I ain't gained anything since. I'm not in any Fed's pocket and I've _never_ been bad for business. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've gone and lost yourself a spine lately."

Mingo bit his lip and looked away off-screen again. _"Just don't call here anymore, Reynolds."_

The screen went dark.

Before Mal could react in any regrettable way, Kaylee's voice chimed through the intercom. _"Cap'n,"_ she said, _"could you come down to the ramp. Please?"_

Mal made sure his composure was in order before he responded. "Be right there." He climbed up through the shutter and walked calmly through the corridor, doing his best to keep the Mingo conversation well at the back of his mind. To give himself more time, he took the long way down to the hold: through the kitchen and down the stairs into the infirmary. By the time he made it to the cargo hold, he was as calm as he could be.

Kaylee, Simon, and Jayne were gathered around a fourth person, who looked very unfamiliar. Mal approached, with eyebrows raised, expecting an explanation.

"Oh, hey there, Cap'n," Kaylee said grinning. She swept her hands toward the mystery man standing nearby. "We got ourselves a passenger."

The mystery man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, grinning slightly, calmly. He had dark skin, the faintest hint of muscles beneath his shirt, and a head of long dreadlocks tied into a ponytail. He held out a hand when he saw Mal. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain."

Mal shook the hand. "If you say so."

"I don't see many firefly-class starships in working condition. From what Miss Frye has already shown me, you are very lucky to have such a fine ship in such fine condition."

"Luck has everything to do with it. Didn't catch your name."

"It is Isaiah, Captain," he said. "I was hoping you'd agree to granting me passage aboard your ship."

"Well, granting you passage is the easy part, so as long as you've got the credits."

"Ah, yes." Isaiah reached into his pocket and produced a stack of credits. Jayne's eyes went wide. "I'm unsure what the rates are these days. I've not left Persephone in some time."

Jayne snorted. "Buddy, for that stack of cash, I'd take you anywhere in the 'Verse and do your gorram laundry for a year."

Mal held up a hand. "What Jayne means is: that all depends on where you wanna get to. As it happens, we ain't got a great many things working out for us here, so we can take you nearly anywhere within reason. If you take us outside where we typically roam for work, you'll have to pick up the tab for our fuel and food."

Isaiah nodded. "That sounds fair."

"Where's it that you needed to go."

Isaiah lowered his head. "I don't know its true name, I only know the Alliance label for it."

Mal shrugged. "Chances are good that I'll know it. If not, we can always check the cortex."

"I know it as Cain-two-one-two-three."

Mal's brow furrowed. His vision blurred slightly. "What'd you just say?"

"Perhaps you know it?" Isaiah asked, still grinning calmly.

Mal looked around absently, but when he noticed his crew giving him confused looks he motioned to the back of the ship. "Maybe we'd better continue this conversation in private, huh?"

"Maybe we should." Isaiah bowed slightly and strolled off through the rear doorway with Mal close behind. The others made a move to follow, but the captain held them there with a wave of his hand.

The two made their way through the infirmary and toward the guest quarters—though, Mal had since stopped calling them that aloud, as it was where River and Simon were currently staying, and they were certainly not guests. Mal picked one of the empty rooms, taking special care not to disturb Shepherd Book's old cabin, and closed himself and Isaiah inside.

"All right," Mal said, getting in Isaiah's face. "How do you know that name?"

"Cain-two-one-two-three is the designation given to the planet Hera during the Unification Wars," Isaiah said, as if it had been rehearsed.

"I know that!" Mal spat. "It was the name the _Alliance brass_ gave Hera during their attack. Only a few officers on the other side knew that name, and only myself, Zoe, and three others buried in the ground were there when the name was decoded. So, I'll ask you again: How do you know that name?"

"Because, Sergeant Reynolds," Isaiah said, drawing a slight gasp out of Mal, "your current situation is even less simple than you think." The man calmly reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. To Mal's surprise, the man's face became glossy, like plastic, and his features diminished until there was nothing more than a blank white mask in its place. He pulled it away, revealing someone much more familiar.

"儿子的婊子!" Mal's autorevolver was in his hand, rage in his eyes. "What the _hell_ are you doing on my boat?"

It was him—the Operative. The man whose self-righteous mission had resulted in Book, Wash, and dozens of others being killed—no, _murdered_—during the Miranda incident. He was the reason for a great many troubles in Mal's life, and he'd let him aboard _Serenity_ willingly.

"I think I remember something," Mal said, taking aim at the Operative's head. "I seem to remember saying I'd kill you next time I saw you." He pulled back the hammer. "Don't think for one moment you're gonna make a liar out of me."

The Operative didn't flinch. He didn't hold up his hands, beg for mercy. He just stood—placid, accepting. "You must do what you must, Captain. But before you kill me, I'd only like to try and offer you a small piece of information. This information will keep you alive and out of an Alliance penal colony. I only ask for a moment, and after that—" He looked at the gun. "—you can keep your promise."

If it hadn't been for that one moment, the last time they saw each other, when Mal had looked into the Operative's eyes and saw nothing but the sadness of a broken man, he might have shot him on sight. Without this man, Wash, Book, and friends from a dozen other worlds might still be alive. But without his help back on Shilo Four, his entire crew might be dead or dying in said Alliance penal colony.

It was enough—_just_ enough—to convince Mal to listen. "Start talkin'. Really fast if you don't mind."

The Operative nodded. "As you might already know, a starport on the other end of this city has just been destroyed after an attack orchestrated by a terrorist organization. What you do _not_ know is that the Alliance Authority already knows who these terrorists are. What you also do not know is that you have a direct connection to this group."

Mal's aim dropped a little. "What are you talking about?"

"After the attack, Authority immediately began sifting through all ships currently in dock on Persephone. Because of your connection to this group, _Serenity_ immediately took notice, and a squad of Authority officers was dispatched to intercept your ship. This would have happened a little over a minute ago. I did my best to stall them, but I could not continue for long without drawing even more attention to you."

The Operative sighed. "They will be here in two minutes more. They will impound your ship, haul everyone inside it to the nearest Authority facility, where your crew will be interrogated and treated as enemies of the state. Despite your innocence and despite your crew—excluding Zoe Washburne—not having the connection you have, you will be tortured, your ship will be scrapped during the investigation, and you will not be released until their man has been captured."

Mal hadn't noticed it, but his gun was back in its holster. He looked around, as if he could feel the heat descending upon him. But what if it was all a lie? "You've gotta know," he said, "it ain't easy to take you on your word."

The Operative shook his head. "I've destroyed your lives." His eyes looked as though they were tearing up. "I've killed your friends. I am the embodiment of all that was wrong in the 'Verse when we met." He shook his head. "But I am not a liar."

Mal could wait and see if Authority would really swoop in to make an arrest and maybe, just _maybe_, they could make it out in time before _Serenity_ was forcibly grounded. Or, they could take this man on his word, play it safe and, at worst, take a trip into space.

It was not an easy decision to make.

Boy, would Inara hate him for not being here when she arrived.

He leaned over to the intercom. "Everyone get this ship ready, we're dusting off ten minutes ago! Let's go!" He pointed to the Operative. "Put your face back on and follow me. If you try anything, don't think I won't keep my promise."

The Operative bowed and placed the blank white mask back on his face. The mask took form again, darkened, and blended in until that unfamiliar Isaiah was standing in the Operative's place.

Mal left the room with the Operative in tow, and he could feel the engines already warming up. River must have read his mind. Literally.

_"Captain!"_ Zoe's voice shouted through the intercom. _"Just spotted a dozen Authority cruisers flying in our direction!"_

And with that, Mal's world was flung back into darkness.

It had been a while since he'd been there.


	6. Just Barely

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Four – Just Barely**

* * *

Inara took a detour in a southerly direction, following a thin stream of air traffic over a city she had always adored. Perseus City had a population of over twenty-three million, but you couldn't tell just by looking at it. The buildings reached far into the sky, far enough that normal traffic lanes had to be diverted to higher altitudes. But for every building above ground, there was one just as vast below it.

Thick granite deposits made it possible for there to be a stable city below a city. She had spent a summer there once, in a home near the top of a cavern that was covered in quartz crystals the size of her shuttle. Once a week, a light would be shone on the clusters, providing a show like no other. The twinkle of those diamond-like crystals could almost rival the beauty of the stars on a perfect night. Almost.

For as many happy memories she had below the surface, there were many rooted in the surface city, as well. The buildings webbed outward through a vast lake, granting beachwalks and stunning littoral vistas to its many citizens. Flying overhead, the city seemed something alien. She couldn't imagine human hands ever crafting such an inspired place, but there it was.

She guided her shuttle upward, taking her over the top of the Mindor Tower: one of the tallest buildings on Persephone. She could spot a few people walking around the skywalks near the top of the tower, scurrying around like ants at this distance. The urge to take the shuttle in for a landing down there was far too tempting.

_Maybe it won't make a difference if I'm just a little bit late..._

Inara quickly decided against it. An image of Kaylee pacing outside _Serenity_'s docking hatch with sad puppy-dog eyes brought her gaze back level, away from the city.

Another time, perhaps.

As her direction changed again, she could just pick out the column of smoke rising up from the other side of the city-lake. The fire was still raging on, much to Inara's disappointment. She had been informed about the attack on the starport not too long after departing from her engagement with Charon. Nearly every feed going through the cortex was lit up red with developments on the story.

An overwhelming majority of the opinion concerning who the culprit might have been centered around Adelai Niska and his gang. Inara couldn't buy that, though. Niska was still in hiding after their last run in, doing his best to salvage his reputation. He wouldn't have time to orchestrate an attack on Persephone, and he probably wouldn't have motive even if he did.

Taking a swipe at a Core World rendered consequences that very few crooks were willing to face.

The navigation panel chimed to indicate that her destination had been reached. Inara set the shuttle to hover, and began guiding it down to dock with _Serenity_.

"_Serenity_, this is Inara," she said into the comm. "Requesting permission to land."

Static returned through the channel, which was an odd thing to happen.

"_Serenity_, do you read?"

More static, but a voice eventually emerged from it all. It was Mal. _"Um... yeah. Request denied, Inara."_

Inara sighed. She really didn't feel up to playing any games right now. "I'm bringing the shuttle in, Mal."

_"No, you can't."_ Mal replied. _"You really can't."_

"And why not?" She rolled her eyes.

_"Cause we ain't here."_

Inara cocked an eyebrow and brought the shuttle in lower. True to the captain's word, there was an empty space in the field where _Serenity_ should have been. "Where are you? I'm really not in the mood for—"

_"Busy."_ Mal's voice disappeared for a few seconds. _"Get comfortable on Persephone. We've run into a few problems. Understand?"_

Yeah, she understood. That meant: problems with the law. Of all the times Mal could get someone angry with him, he had to pick today. Now. When all she wanted to do was relax away the rest of what _had_ been a pleasant day.

She said, "Will you contact me when I can dock safely?"

_"Ah... yeah, will do,"_ Mal said. _"__Over and— Woah!"_ A beat of silence. _"...Out."_

The channel went dead.

Inara let the shuttle hover there for a moment as she fought with frustration and anger and all those negative emotions that made her want to strike Mal across the face. She let it go eventually—like a leaf on the wind—and decided to head back into the thick of Perseus City. She would have her day of relaxation, even if she had to buy it.

–

_Serenity_ dumped her drift and swung around to move one of her nacelles out of the way of the second RAD missile to get a clean lock. The missile sang away, missing the dead center of the fan thruster by only a few feet, and autodetonated off the port side. The concussion drummed against the bulkhead, sending a sound like thunder through the ship's hold.

River yanked the yoke back level and got the engines burning again. Their speed increased as they tried once more to lose the Authority Interceptors, who had been steadily closing in after _Serenity_ had broken atmo.

Mal did his best in the copilot's seat, giving River any assistance he could act on, but it seemed as though the girl had everything covered. "I'm just gettin' in your way now, aren't I?"

"Yes," River answered back, undoing some of Mal's course corrections with a free hand.

"Fair enough." He lifted his hands away from the console, but decided against leaving the seat. It was the first time in a long time the inertial compensators weren't doing their job; Mal felt butterflies with almost every move the ship made. He feared falling down stairs if he should try and stand up in the chaos.

_"Firefly-class_!" the cortex buzzed, again. "_This is your last warning! Disengage your engines or your ship will be fired upon_!"

"Ain't they already firing?" Mal switched off the cortex, again. He made a mental note to figure out how to uninstall the Alliance override in the device... and figure out who had allowed it to be installed in the first place. Probably Jayne. He left him alone with the repairs for one gorram day—

Another concussion threw _Serenity_ into a ferocious barrel roll that all but threw Mal out of his seat. He could hear his safety harness strain as he was thrown against it, and he said a few prayers to the Harness Gods so that he wouldn't be tossed out of his seat.

The ship came back level with all due swiftness, thanks to River's excellent piloting. Mal gave her a thumbs up. "You know how much I love it when you keep us from blowing up?"

"We're moving outside the system," River said, ignoring Mal's comment. "Where are we heading?"

Mal wrangled his thoughts back into order. "Get us heading to Beaumonde. I got me some twins to shoot."

"Aye, aye." River shoved the yoke forward using her entire body, and the stars outside the front viewport blurred into white lines.

Jayne's voice cut through the intercom. _"You gonna keep plottin' moves like this all day?"_ he asked. _"I ate a big lunch before this, you know?"_

Mal grabbed the comm. "Keep it in your stomach, Jayne. The rest of you: we're making a jump in a few seconds."

"I would suggest not making a direct jump," Isaiah said, suddenly standing directly behind Mal's seat.

"And why would you suggest that?" Mal asked, not too keen on taking anymore advice from the man. He was once told that saving a man's life is an act of charity, but saving his life twice means you're in his debt. And that was one place Mal definitely didn't want to be.

Isaiah moved to the front of the bridge, maintaining perfect balance the entire way. "That Alliance ship sitting out there hasn't fired a single shot. The reason being that they know you'll be making a jump soon. That ship's sole purpose is to track your trajectory when you're away, which will make it very easy for them to track you to Beaumonde."

Mal looked over to River, who was busy staring Isaiah down with that deathly stare of hers. "Can you work that out, Albatross?" he asked her, trying to provide a distraction.

She turned away. "A course change is problematic."

"But can you do it?"

"Who are you talking to?" she asked, and turned back to her console. Mal reckoned he could have taken that question in many ways: sarcasm, anger, or an honest-to-goodness query. But he whittled it down to an affirmative and let it end there.

Starting an argument with the little girl who's driving your ship is not a way to get a good resolution. Unless that resolution involved a nosedive into the nearest celestial body.

River twisted the yoke one more time, pointing _Serenity_ toward the middle of a group of perusing Interceptors. She didn't seem fazed by the sight of them, she didn't even flinch. In fact, she punched the throttle: full speed.

"Woah now." Mal braced himself a little against the console. "That's... Yeah, I don't wanna tell you how to drive, little one, but that's—!" He was thrown around in his seat again as _Serenity_ tore this way and that, dodging an all-out barrage of RAD missiles aimed directly at the viewport. The missiles detonated all round the hull, causing a violent tremor inside the ship that shorted out a few circuit panels around the bridge.

Mal shielded his eyes from the sparks, but from a tiny gap between his fingers he saw the Interceptors streak by and disappear from sight. "Punch it, girl!"

River's fingers disengaged the engine's safety mechanism, pushed the throttle into the red, and _Serenity_ jumped into full burn that left Persephone as a white blip on their sensors in a matter of minutes.

—

"Out," Mal told Simon, angling his thumb toward the infirmary's sole exit.

The doctor looked up from the opened drawers, confused and slightly unsure if Mal was being serious. "Out?"

"Out."

"Why?"

"Because this is my boat and one of my pet peeves is explaining myself. Out."

Simon looked a little hurt, but he obediently gathered up his supplies and left the room, shooting a frustrated stare in Mal's direction as he did. When the room was emptied, Isaiah followed Mal inside and closed the door behind him.

"I'm not fond of kicking the doctor out of his place of business," Mal said, leaning against one of the counters. "He's earned the right to not get pushed around by me anymore, so you'd better have a good story to tell."

"Privacy would be preferred. The walls of your guest rooms are somewhat thin." Isaiah laced his fingers together. "After we're finished here, you can do what you wish with the information I have to give you. You can do with _me_ what you wish."

"I think you're safe for now, mister. When I want you dead, you'll be the first to know."

"Of course."

"So tell me," said Mal, "why'd you just come out of nowhere to save us like you did?"

Isaiah grinned a little. "I believe in many things," he said. "And I believe there is, with all things, an end. What happened between us—with Miranda—was... regrettable. Had I known, or had I ever bothered to know, things would have been different—"

"But they ain't," Mal cut in.

"Without a doubt." Isaiah lowered his head. "But what happened is over. As far as I'm concerned, the Alliance has no further need of you, your ship, or your crew."

"And, they don't think the same way as you, I take it."

"They never did," Isaiah murmured. "Parliament just barely dodged a bullet aimed at their heart. The details of River's treatment never surfaced, nor did the extent of their experimentation with the Pax virus. As far as the system is concerned, the Fall of Miranda was caused by rogue scientists." He sighed. "But you know that."

Mal crossed his arms and thought back to the endless praise that had been thrown at him. Hardly any mention of the dead left by the Alliance. Hardly any mention of his friends. Releasing the vid that concerned the Fall of Miranda did a great many things, but it never had the effect he'd thought it would. "I know that all too well."

"The players have changed, but the game remains the same. Parliament still wants River, and they'll take any opportunity to do so. But with you safely under the public's eye, they've since continued watching from afar. This business with the starport gave them their opening."

Mal was starting to get a headache. He wondered if these Alliance conflicts would ever, ever end. "I thought you said Zoe and I had a direct connection with what happened at the starport."

"Oh, you do." Isaiah stepped forward. "What's the one connecting factor between you and Zoe that no one else on this ship can boast?"

"We're both trigger happy?"

Isaiah sighed.

"We've got no love for the Alliance? I don't know."

"That is a symptom of a virus you both share. At least attempt to give it some thought."

Mal had, indeed, given it some thought, but there was no way they could be thinking of the same thing. No way at all. "You don't mean—"

"Yes, _Sergeant_, I do mean just that."

Mal tried to hide his nervousness, but what Isaiah was suggesting made it very difficult. He scratched his cheek, shuffled around, looked everywhere else but the man he was talking to. "Causing a bit of trouble again, are they?"

"More than a bit," said Isaiah, his face waxing seriousness. "The starport was not just a cheap shot. It was calculated, as were several other attacks throughout the system. Their aim is to finish what you and your special brand of soldiers attempted all those years ago." He crossed his arms, allowing Mal to find the answers himself. "They'll have their independence, Mal. At this point, there is very little the Alliance can do to stop them."

Mal felt helpless—that was if Isaiah was still telling the truth. But one look at the man and Mal knew not one lie had breached his lips. What was happening now—all around him—was real. He wondered why he wasn't very excited about.

"The Browncoats will rise again, Mal."


	7. Last Rites for a Dying World

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Interlude – Last Rites for a Dying World**

* * *

-Serenity Valley-

-宁静山谷-

-Seven Years Ago-

-七年前-

* * *

It had been three hours since the cease fire had been ordered, but the war was still on as far as Mal was concerned. The Alliance still had them at gunpoint, his men were still dying, and the Browncoats had not yet had their day. Those gutless so-called officers up in the Independent flagships might have been willing to wave the white flag so soon, but not Mal's soldiers. Not while they could still draw breath.

"Keep moving." The Alliance soldier toughly nudged Mal in the back with the butt of a rifle, nearly sending him to the ground. At the sight of their sergeant being harassed, the other Browncoats stopped the march and resumed their heckling.

"Keep your damn hands off of him, you Fed piece of 屁话!"

"Touch him again and you'll be eating dirt!"

Mal held up a hand to quiet the lot. "S'all right, boys," he said. "He was just making conversation." The squad reluctantly turned back and continued walking down the dirt path. They were an honorable bunch, the best soldiers Mal had ever served with, and that was why he didn't want them to die. Not like this: being gunned down for talking foul.

The Alliance soldiers who flanked their small group of Browncoats had never moved their fingers away from their triggers, and had their sights locked on the foreheads of every one of the prisoners walking. They were looking for any reason to execute the squad and move on, and Mal wasn't looking to give them any. Not yet, anyway.

They continued walking up the side of a hill, ignoring the laughter and prodding barks the Alliance soldiers would throw their way every couple of yards. The ecstasy of victory was still hot on their necks, causing them to act irrationally. Mal kept his eyes open, waiting for them to make a mistake. He didn't think the Feds would laugh so much with a bullet in their skulls.

Though the night was still on, the top of the hill was brightly lit. The source of that light being an impact crater a quarter-mile away, where an Independent transport still lay smoldering, its fuel lines feeding the flames in blue-green bursts. As they passed, Mal could feel the heat of the fires pass over him, persuading him to wonder just who lay burning inside that wreckage. It was always someone he knew. It was as if God would introduce new people into Mal's life just so He could kill them off a few days later.

God always seemed to be like that nowadays, and Mal really never gave it much thought until now. The Almighty really was just a big sky bully, favoring Mal with his giant magnifying glass and morbid sense of humor.

Mal grinned, feeling numb for the first time since the cease fire. He reached up to his neck, wrapped his fingers around the cross hanging from it, and yanked the necklace free. Without a thought for it, he tossed the thing into the dirt and kept on walking.

The Alliance officer at the head of the group brought everyone to a stop. Mal sighed, knowing the reason for it.

"Bring up the officers!" the Alliance officer ordered, and his men immediately went to work pulling a few of the Browncoats from the group—Mal included. "Line them up."

"What? Are you gonna force us to do show tunes?" said Mal's friend and fellow officer, Matt Stokes. He never did know when to stop talking. Mal was fairly certain he was going to get himself into trouble for it this time, and possibly get that thick beard of his yanked off.

Luckily, the Alliance officer ignored it. "Do you boys know why that transport is burning over there?"

Matt snorted. "'Cause it's on fire?"

This time, the officer shot a piercing glance in his direction: a very clear warning of what could come. "It's burning over there because we shot it out of the sky." He waited for Matt to say something else. When the Browncoat didn't, the officer continued. "It was actually lifting off at a ninety degree angle, which tells me that there was something of interest on this hill. Maybe it was a straggler from one of your units, but I tend to take you boys for the more creative sort."

"Not as creative as you might think," Mal replied.

"Oh yeah?"

"We're your prisoners, aren't we?"

The officer smiled. "Bitter till the end. You should be proud to rejoin the Alliance. Civilization. Your lives can finally amount to something. This fruitless war of yours was just...masturbation, really. What good has it done you now?"

"Moments of satisfaction on otherwise boring nights," Matt said. "Judging by that crudely-sewn patch on your shoulder, I'm guessing you received a rushed field promotion at some point, probably when _your_ commander was killed in action." He smiled. "That was probably my doing. Feds spewing that preachy 屁话 on the field made for easier targets—"

Mal watched Matt's kneecap explode. Gunfire burst through his ears. Matt fell to the ground, cursing, flailing. Mal's wartime reflexes kicked in, and he covered the distance between himself and the officer so quickly the man wasn't able to get another shot off.

Mal gripped the officer's neck and squeezed, feeling the rage build behind his eyes. He only felt it for a brief moment, though, on account of the sense-destroying blow that struck the back of his head. He tumbled into the dust, nauseous and disorientated. A boot came down on his chest and the air was pushed out of his lungs. He coughed and gagged until he could think of nothing but the sweet release of passing out.

Matt was still screaming, somewhere out there, but Mal couldn't bring himself to focus. The barrel of a rifle was pushed against his teeth, muffling the curse word he threw at the officer.

"A compliant prisoner," the officer said, gathering his composure, "is a breathing prisoner. Now, I know that there's a facility under this hill and that the transport smoldering over there was very likely the escaping personnel. _Was_, what with past-tense being what it is."

"There ain't no facility!" Matt screamed. "We had _nothing _on this world, and you had to go and take that, too!"

"That so?" The officer looked at Mal. "Sergeant? There's no facility here?"

Three meters deep, reenforced titanium, base of operations for the entire sector, manned by ten operators, half of which were probably evacuated per emergency procedures. Did he leave anything out?

If the Feds got their hands on that facility, it could only lengthen the list of Independent sympathizers who would likely be hunted down after the dust settled. He couldn't have that. He wouldn't.

He'd much rather have a bullet in his brainpan.

"You ever hear that old borderworld saying?" Mal asked. "That someone's carrying a bullet for you right now, and doesn't even know it. You either die of old age before it finds you, or you go looking for it." He sat up, pressing his forehead against the enemy rifle. "If you don't kill me right now, I suspect you've just found it, mister."

At some point in the darkness between the flickering light of the flames nearby, a grin had appeared on the officer's face. His finger, very slowly, rubbed back and forth across the trigger. "Touching." He turned to his soldiers. "He's not going to talk. Signal the fleet: tell them to fire a bunker buster down on these coordinates as soon as we're out of range."

"Yes, sir."

Mal found himself struggling against the boot on his chest. "我会追杀你到宇宙的边缘!"

"I bet you would." The officer made a gesture to get the group moving again.

"But, sir," one of the soldiers said. "What about the...the one with the kneecap problem?" He pointed to Matt, who was almost catatonic on the ground.

The officer shrugged. "No special treatment. Get him walking."

Mal felt someone grab him just before he was pulled to his feet. Still woozy, brimming with what he could barely identify as anger, hearing the screams of his injured friend as they forced him to walk on his injured leg, Mal instinctively found himself mumbling a prayer, as he had so many times before during the war.

Halfway through, he stopped. His jaw quivered, his eyes teared up. For the first time in his life, he felt like there was no one up there listening.


	8. The Old Song and Dance

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Five – The Old Song and Dance**

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅-

* * *

Inara's shuttle landed on a seldom-used pad in the Sun Sun Wo District of Perseus City. It was a residential area, filled with sterling apartment complexes and just a few restaurants street level—but a fancy meal wasn't the reason she had come to this particular part of the city.

Only the locals of the district were aware of the access lift to the undercity, almost entirely hidden on a sidestreet between two of the complexes. One of her clients had made her privy to its location, which allowed her to store her shuttle in the calmest part of the city, so that she might get to the busiest part.

It was her golden ticket to one of her most favorite places on the planet.

The lift was as inconspicuous as a cortex booth and just as small, with hardly enough room for two people. Inara keyed the Mercantile Level and soon there was nothing but bedrock passing upward in her view. The lights in the lift flickered a little bit, but just before the thing felt too much like a coffin, the brightly lit caverns of the undercity appeared all around her.

Quartz formations scattered artificial light upon buildings and streets, all of which were plainly cluttered with shoppers and pedestrians. Most of the shops were located at the center of the cavern, where there was the most light and more access lifts and tunnels leading to the surface. There were, however, small residential areas built into the tiered cavern walls, where small homes lined a street that ascended in a switchback motion.

Shopkeepers were usually the only ones fighting for a place to live underground. The Perseus Undercity was a place where many loved to visit, but few loved to stay. But Inara had dreams of this place all of the time. It had such a natural, not-quite-containted beauty about it that made her want to find a place beneath the crystal sky and just _sit_.

And that's what she did.

From the lift, it wasn't difficult to find her favorite bistro, The Seven Whispers, and find a seat on the second-level balcony that looked out over the undercity, and had an unobscured view upward. A kindly waitress walked by, took Inara's drink order, and returned no more than two minutes later.

Inara took a sip, tasting the sweetness of the strawberry cocktail before settling back and taking a deep breath of the recycled cavern air. It smelled just as sweet.

For a moment, she could've sworn she had fallen asleep. Her hair dangled over the edge of the balcony and swayed with the artificial breeze that passed through at random intervals. (They used to be timed, but people began to catch on.) In that moment, the caverns sang, but only when she listened closely.

"Beautiful, ain't it?"

Inara's head snapped up. A couple strands of her hair got caught in the railing and were torn away. She did her best not to react at the pain, nor at the sight of the rugged and bearded man standing beside her table. He was, for all intents and purposes, extraordinarily out of place.

"Yes," she finally answered. "If you're referring to the cavern's song."

"I was." He ran a hand through his tangled beard before gesturing toward a chair. "Mind if I join you?"

Sure the man looked like he had just spent a week carving out a piece of an ore mine, but there was a nicety about him that all but forced Inara not to turn him away. There was just something about his eyes, something friendly. "Not at all," she said.

"Thank you kindly." He pulled the chair out and plopped himself down. Inara guessed he had already had a few. "Pardon my intrusiveness, but I had to ask. A man sees a pretty lady like you sitting all by her lonesome, and such a man'll be kicking himself in the morning if he didn't at least get her name."

She smiled pleasantly. "Inara Serra."

"So you are," the man replied with a nod. "The name's Monty—Monty Ross."

"Charmed." Why did that name sound familiar?

"Likewise." Monty scooted forward and leaned an elbow on the table. "So, just what are you doing all by yourself up here?"

"Don't have much of a reason, I'm afraid," Inara answered. "I just come here to unwind."

"Ah." His mustache twinged. "And I'm likely messing that up for you, aren't I?"

Inara waved him off. "Not at all. I'm not trying to put myself in a trance or anything like that. Conversation can be relaxing, as well."

"Well, I might mess that up for you, too. My crew always tell me I'm not one for speechifying."

She laughed and silently hoped he was joking; she didn't want to seem rude. "So, you're a captain?"

"That I am."

"What do you run?"

The brief moment of hesitation Monty indulged in was all Inara needed. The man was a smuggler. She'd seen Mal do the same thing countless times. Though, he'd gotten better at it recently, she admitted.

"Freight and the like," Monty said. "Honest work so's we can honestly get by."

Inara always found it amazing how the word "honest" could become such a staple of every criminal's lexicon. "Especially these days."

"Especially. All of the Alliance Customs restrictions makes it almost impossible to turn a profit, even if we spend all our time making the solar runs."

"They haven't been forgiving for quite some time."

"Long enough," he snorted.

Inara suddenly noticed the man's coat. It had a distinct brown color about it. Why hadn't she noticed that before? "What brings you to Persephone?" she asked.

"Just seeing a few things through."

"How long are you planetside?"

"Eh, not much longer. Ship'll be ready in a few hours, then we can start loading, then we can leave." He motioned to the waitress and muttered to her, _"Ng-ka-pei."_

Mal's favorite drink. This man was definitely of the Independent sort.

"You're not sticking around much longer, are you?" Monty asked. His drink arrived before he could even finish his question.

Inara shrugged. "It's not entirely up to me, unfortunately."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I rent a shuttle, and the ship it should be attached to is... held up somewhere." Inara braced herself for what the reaction of this man would be when she said, "It's a firefly-class: _Serenity._"

Monty spilled his drink down the front of his shirt. As he hurriedly tried to mop it up with a napkin, he asked, "_Serenity_?"

Inara feigned bewilderment. "Yes, that's the name. Why?"

"Erm." He tossed the napkin aside. "Nothing, nothing. Hey, are you sure it's a firefly-class? Not too many of those still flyin'."

"Well, we can barely keep that one flying as it is. Not very easy to mistake a firefly for something else."

"So, uh... your captain wouldn't happen to be Malcolm Reynolds, would he?"

"That would be him." She nodded. "Sarcastic, wily, and has a thing for coats of a certain color."

Monty looked confused, then looked down to his own duster. "Christ." He winced. "You're one of Reynolds' crew?"

"I'm sure he'd have some undignified label in queue for me, but I supposed I would be."

"拉屎..." he cursed and drank down the rest of his beer. "Look, I just wanted to have a nice chat before I-I really didn't mean nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

Monty stood. "You need to get out of here."

"What? Why?" She didn't have to fake bewilderment this time.

"Something—" He took a quick look around and lowered his voice. "Something kinda big is about to go down here. Mal's a friend of mine, all right? A really good one. He took a bullet for me back in the day and never asked me to take one in return. Get. Off. This. Planet."

He nervously dropped a stack of credits on the table in an attempt to pay the bill; it was enough money to pay for five steak dinners. "Please get out of here." He hurriedly walked away.

Inara sat in place, quietly looking over to where Monty had been sitting until the winds picked up again, as if to break her out of the spell.

"Okay..." she muttered to herself. "This could be bad."

* * *

-Beaumonde-

-市金属天空-

* * *

Past incidents aside, Mal thought it best to land _Serenity_ on a private landing pad somewhere out of sight. After having River do a little bit of scouting through the cortex, they found a nice spot only a few kilometers away from the Maidenhead. He didn't think they'd be here long enough to cause any sort of trouble with the law, but he had the girl change the registration of the landing pad just in case.

He walked down the loading ramp and made sure all of his munitions were in order. It had been a while since he'd had to fire a shot from his autorevolver. Just about all he had used it for lately was to threaten people, and it seemed like he'd done a lot of that lately, now that he thought about it.

Well, it was kinda fun. That _No, no! Don't shoot me!_ expression never got old.

He holstered the revolver and turned to figure out which of his crew he'd be taking with him. Jayne already had Vera canted up onto his shoulder, Zoe had her shotgun cocked and ready, Simon and River were sitting on a crate, and Kaylee...she was fiddling with the controller for the loading ramp.

Yep. These were his people.

"I'm just going in there to ask the twins a few questions," Mal explained to his crew. "I expect those questions to be answered, but I don't expect things to get ugly. I need my most experienced gunman to accompany me just in case things go south."

Jayne immediately stepped forward. "Been meaning to shoot those identa-bastards since the moment I—"

"That'd be River," Mal finished.

Jayne's mouth dropped open. "The fu—?"

"Nothin' personal, Jayne. The kid's got a history there: the kind that makes talking to the easily-intimidated that much easier."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me."

"Not this time. And I thought we only did that on your birthdays."

Zoe, still smiling after watching Jayne fall so far, approached Mal and said, "All jokes aside, Captain, you really should take someone else."

Mal nodded at her. "You want the job?"

"Hey!" Jayne threw his arms up. "Who has the biggest gun here?"

"He really wants to go," Zoe said with a laugh. "I don't really want to deal with him moping around the ship."

Mal sighed. "Fine." He pointed at Jayne. "Get yer gun and let's get going."

Jayne cocked Vera. "That's what I thought."

"Let's go, Albatross."

River stood from the crate and saluted. "Captain, my captain."

"Right." Mal looked around and found Isaiah standing off near the edge of the landing pad, looking out over the sheer drop that led down to the planet's surface. He walked over to meet him while River and Jayne finished gathering their things. "Am I gonna find my answers here?" he asked.

Isaiah thought for a moment. "It's certainly possible." He shrugged. "I wish I could give you the answers you need, Captain Reynolds."

"These Browncoats..." Mal still had a tough time associating these rogues with the people he fought beside in the Unification War. "You can't tell me anything else about them? Names? Anything?"

"I see only the waves that reach my shore, Mal. I can tell you, with certainty, what force put them into motion, but the exact source is unclear."

"You're sure?" Mal insisted. "You're sure the Browncoats are to blame for the attacks?"

"Past, present, and future," Isaiah replied, calmly. "Their magnum opus is yet to come. I do not know what form it will take, but it is very likely something...most terrible." He looked at Mal. "It might well be what scared off Badger, and nearly every well-connected criminal in the system. If you don't get your answers here, I can only assume you'll, at least, get another sign post."

Mal disappeared into thought, wondering just who could kill so many innocent people in the name of their old cause. _His_ old cause. It didn't add up. Even in wartime, they would never kill civilians, no matter which side of the way they were on.

"Let's go find our sign post, then," Mal said. "You coming?"

"If you'd have me."

"Might as well. Got a feeling the whole crew's gonna end up over there one way or another."


	9. Same War, Different Day

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Six – Same War, Different Day**

* * *

You know that you're on Beaumonde when you take your first breath and cough, repeatedly. It's the only place in the 'Verse where one can get the black lung from being anywhere below three thousand meters above sea level, and the only place in the 'Verse where going for a quick dip in the ocean will get your eyelids burned off; on account of the high levels of ammonia delicately mixed in.

And that's assuming you don't pass out before you even get to the ocean.

A quick visit will make you question: Why would civilization ever, ever, ever take root in a place like this? The answer is deceptively simple.

When humanity first entered the star system, after the Fall of Earth-that was, the race for resources began. Beaumonde was named after the insane—perhaps, retrospectively brilliant—mineral surveyor, Alexandre Beaumonde, who defied his own company on the hunch that there was something to be found on that hazardous planet of death.

And there was; Alexandre Beaumonde had the last laugh after discovering a planetary mother lode of useful minerals such as gold, silver, palladium and thorium. This was before he died of the black lung one day after his fiftieth birthday.

To avoid the toxic underground fumes and the ammonia oceans, mountaintop mining was/is the primary mode of unearthing precious minerals. Those mining facilities expanded clumsily across the mountain ranges, then rose vertically into tiered cities, before settling into the Beaumonde that we enjoy today: a planet driven by toxicity, with many different places to hide many different crimes.

"Enjoy" being a term of extreme relativity.

–

The city of Red Lotus, named for the mountain upon which it was built—as it was for most cities on Beaumonde—was taken up almost entirely by an aggressive industrial district. The whine of pneumatic tools and the the roar of mechanical construction vehicles created an ever-present layer of white noise that was impossible to escape unless you took shelter amongst the markets, where a harsh melding of professional and juvenile musical performances replaced it.

Mal didn't like Beaumonde, and of all the cities upon it, he hated Red Lotus the most—and between the industrial and market districts, he preferred the jackhammer sound of assembly lines over bad music.

"This place is messing with my gorram chi," Mal groaned, leading River, Jayne and Isaiah down another sidestreet—the last one before they'd reach the Maidenhead.

Jayne redirected himself to pass by a group of geisha standing in front of a brothel with paper fans waving in front of their faces. He marched up, held Vera up and flexed his muscles hard—then dramatically turned on his heels and rejoined the group, his face pale.

"What was that all about?" Mal asked.

Jayne shook his head. "Fellas shouldn't be allowed to dress that pretty. It's deceptive."

Mal snorted as he stifled a laugh. "Oh, Jayne, that's not so nice." He looked back. "Don't look now, but I think they were a might taken by you."

Jayne took a careful look over his shoulder and found the geisha waving their fingers after him. "Ain't right."

"Neither is your demeanor. Keep on your toes, the Maidenhead's just there." Mal turned to River. "Best keep your head down 'til we find the twins. Don't want anyone to get the feeling we'll be shooting up the place."

"Again?" River asked.

Mal glared at her. "Wasn't exactly my choice last time, was it?"

"Free will is an illusion. You've never had a choice." Her eyes went wide, and she lowered her head as her cheeks went red with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Yeah, you'd better be," he snapped. "That's: Free will is an illusion, _Captain_. An Albatross has to know the pecking order, even when she's questioning my existence."

River smiled, but kept her head down.

They entered the Maidenhead Saloon with guns holstered, knowing they'd have to surrender them before they'd be allowed to enter. Mal had almost forgotten that little detail, but he was still fairly certain they could handle anything with River and Isaiah nearby. And if there was one thing Jayne excelled at in life, it was barroom brawling.

Actually, Mal amended, it was the _only_ thing Jayne excelled at.

The music continued and the guards didn't budge as the companions entered, giving Mal the impression that they were either too scared to react, or the old guards had quit. The dancers continued making their rounds, the patrons continued drinking and the bartender didn't stop serving.

Best case scenario, so far.

Mal nodded to an empty booth. River and Isaiah immediately recognized the gesture and took a seat. Jayne, however, did not.

"What?" he asked, making a face.

Mal sighed. "We really do need to work out some secret codes for you, don't we?" He pointed to the booth. "屁股在座位."

"No call to get snooty," Jayne growled and took a seat in the booth.

Mal shook his head and addressed the bartender. _"Qing, Ng-ka-pei."_

"Yes, sir." Without making eye contact, he picked up a mug and held it beneath a tap until the precious brown liquor poured into it. "Anything else?"

Mal waited until he had the beer in his hand and had taken a good drink of it; he figured a negative reaction was incoming. "Yeah, I want to see the twins."

The bartender looked up, smiled. "They're not here."

"Yes, they are."

"No, they're not."

"Yes, huh."

"I assure you," the bartender said, his smile fading. "They're not here."

"Yes, they are so." Mal's eyes narrowed. "How long have you been working here?"

The bartender braced himself on the bar, holding his ground. "A few years now. What of it?"

"Nothing." Mal grinned back and took another drink. "Mind if I mess with the feed?" He pointed to the screen hanging near the booths. It was currently displaying some archery tournament that no one in the bar seemed particularly interested in.

The bartender shrugged and activated a small touchscreen dial on the bar. "Not at all."

"Fantastic." Mal bypassed the standard channel listing and tapped into the cortex. At the back of an advertisement listing, he found what he was looking for. "Kind friends, would you join me at the bar, please?"

River, Isaiah and Jayne approached, all of them looking a bit confused. Jayne especially.

"The hell do you want, Mal?" Jayne asked, true to form.

"Nothing!" Mal shouted across the room, drawing a few stares. "This bartender isn't being so cooperative, so I figured I'd mend broken bridges by introducing him to my good friends. One of whom, I'm sure he'll remember." Mal tugged River over in front of him and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I think these two might have met."

The bartender had been glaring at Mal the entire time, his finger likely edging for that panic button to call the guards over. Then his eyes carelessly drifted down and found River.

Mal almost laughed. He really did, as he watched the bartender's expression effortlessly cascade through each of the five stages of grief. And just before the man reached "acceptance," Mal tapped the final command on the dial, and the viewscreen hanging over the room clicked over to a very familiar, very colorful commercial—

_"FRUITY OATY BAR! MAKE A MAN OUT OF A MOUSE!"_

"Oh, shit." Jayne's hands fell down to cover his crotch.

"Stop it!" The bartender's hands were flying all over the place. "Please, don't—! Oh, god." He went to change the channel, but he found himself locked out of the controls.

Mal could be crafty when he felt like it.

"Christ alive! Please don't do this!"

Mal shrugged. "Gee-wiz, I don't know. You were kinda rude to me earlier." He swiveled River around so she could see the viewscreen. "Tell the nice man what you see, Little Albatross, and don't leave anything out." Her head slowly tilted to one side, and her eyes went as wide as saucers.

She slowly mouthed the word, "Miranda..."

"They're in the back!" the bartender shouted. "God, they're in the back! Please don't!"

Mal quickly turned River back around. Both of them were smiling. "Thanks for that." He clapped the bartender on the shoulder as the companions made their way into the backroom.

"Didn't much care for that di-version, Mal," Jayne murmured.

"Everything was under control." Mal leaned over to River. "All that kick 'em, shoot 'em stuff _is _out of your head, right?"

"You would be the first to know," she whispered, absently.

Mal glared at her. "I think I still remember that safe word. 'It's gorram... not... smeg?'"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Laughter for the chickens."

"That doesn't sound right either."

The companions passed through a curtain of wooden beads before they were in the office of the twins. They were playing a card game of some sort, and both looked up at the same time to see who was intruding. Likewise, both of them went pale.

"This is a... surprise." Fanty said. "If we had known we'd be entertaining guests, Fanty and I woulda swept up the place."

Mal crossed his arms. There were no guards around; they must have genuinely not been expecting anyone at all. "It's a pleasure," he said. "Now which one of you wants to get shot first?"

"Listen, hey?" Mingo said, holding up his hands. "I don't know what you think Mingo and me've done, but things don't have to go violent."

Mal's eye twitched. "He's Fanty, you're Mingo. If I have to do this dance with you again, I'm gonna shoot one of you just so people can tell you apart."

Mingo smiled. "As I said: no need for that, precious."

"Shiny." Mal took a seat at the table, leaving Jayne, River, and Isaiah forming a very intimidating wall of support around the room's only exit. "Now, I've already asked you once," he said, staring down Mingo, "and you know that I do _not_ like docking on Beaumonde unless my money or my life are on the line. So far, both have been threatened a little, and I think one or both of you are in a cozy enough position to tell me why that is."

Fanty looked around. "Just because you find yourself getting shot at every now and then doesn't mean the 'Verse is out to get you, Reynolds. Gents in your line of work have to consider that their lead intake is going to increase drastically with every job pulled."

"And let's not forget what we told you last time, about your spacebound practices," Mingo added. "You run with you ought to fight, and fight when you ought to deal. And in the case of your little scuffle at Shilo Four, you fought when you shoulda buried your head in the sand. Fellows who receive Alliance love letters are not the sorts we deal with, Reynolds."

Mal reached beneath the table and found a bottle of liquor they'd tried to hide when he barged in. He cracked it open and stole a swig. "You know what's gorram funny about the Feds? They get under your skin even if you don't want 'em to, and they find better ways of doing it every so often."

He slammed the bottle on the table, cracking it a little. "I'm not gonna justify myself to them, and there's absolutely no way in hell I'll do anything similar for you. I've lost too many people out there, along with a great deal of my patience, and I don't care to lose anything else."

Mal upended the table, throwing cards and liquor around the room. Fanty and Mingo were about to run when they found an autorevolver being shoved in the general vicinity of their faces. "My crew's not gonna suffer because the two of you like to bite your tongue at the worst possible time." He pulled back the hammer. "Tell me what I'm into!"

"Okay!" Fanty and Mingo said in unison.

"One of you better start talking. Now."

"Someone came here asking for weapons," Mingo stammered. "Lots of them, and we had the best contacts in the system. The guy bought so much, we got away with five years' worth of earnings off of finder's fees alone."

Fanty continued. "A few months pass, and we get word that other people were getting bought out in the same way. Weapons, ammo and ship parts—in bulk. Some of our friends were able to retire off of what they made."

"So, the bad guys got good business," Mal interpreted. "What of it? What's that got to do with me and mine?"

Fanty laughed nervously. "Well, you'd be the one to know, wouldn't you, precious?"

"You know, people keep saying that. Kinda tired of being left out of the loop, so if you wouldn't mind..."

Mingo threw his arms up. "They were Browncoats, Mal. As best as we could tell, anyway."

So, at least that part of Isaiah's story was true. Mal didn't like the idea of finding him to be the trustable sort. "Last time I checked, there were quite a few people who fought for the Independents. Again, _please_, what's that got to do with me?"

"Faulty generalization, I suppose," Fanty explained. "Once we got word of how many were in on it, what they were doing, we just naturally assumed that Malcolm Reynolds, the man with a massive stick up his arse called 'the Unification War,' might have thrown his hat in with his fellow compatriots."

Mal lowered the revolver. "How many are in on it?"

"All of them? Minus one or two, here and there. You and Washburne might be the only two still on the sidelines."

"And you said they were planning something."

"Planned," Mingo corrected. "Past-tense. They planned something, and I think they're pretty damn well close to fast-tracking it."

Mal looked over to his companions. Isaiah was looking particularly disturbed at the moment.

Something had gone wrong.

"You boys know quite a bit about this," Mal said.

"Well, your average Browncoat isn't exactly the most subtle of creatures in the 'Verse," Fanty replied. "If we keep an ear out, we eventually hear it. I imagine your chum, Badger, did so, as well."

Mal grimaced, noticing the bits of luggage stacked in the corner. The twins weren't sticking around much longer either. "How much time have I got before the Browncoats follow through on this plan of theirs?"

"Oh, ah, well," Mingo checked his watch. "If our sources are correct, it started not a few seconds after you walked through that door."

Mal froze. There was just no way.

Fanty grabbed the bottle of liquor and raised it in a salute to his guests. "Cheers."

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅-

* * *

It was just the way Monty had said it.

_"Get. Off. This. Planet."_

Inara had a chill creeping up her spine the entire ride back up to the surface. Though the lift was ridiculously small, she had no problem pacing back and forth inside of it. She lifted up her hand to bite at her nails, then stopped. When was the last time she had done that?

Not since she'd found herself a hostage of the Operative, used to lure Mal and _Serenity_ into a trap. She had tried praying, but just ended up gnawing at her thumbs in nervousness; she'd known Mal would come to her rescue, even though that was the last thing she wanted him to do.

It had been a while, or just seemed like it. What happened at Shilo Four seemed like it had happened yesterday, and sometimes it seemed like a memory as distant as her childhood. Just like tragedy to transcend time and memory. No wonder it was so hard for her to get over it.

The lift ascended into the alleyway in the Sun Sun Wo District, the brakes engaged, and she stepped out into the relatively musty air of the city. She was almost near the landing pad when she felt something blow past her. It felt like a breeze, but the air went dead calm immediately after.

Then she was flat on her chest, pain darting up her arm and into her head. She felt a wave of heat envelope her as a terrible sound rose up in the distance. She was able to get on her feet, as difficult as that was, and pulled herself out of her daze just in time to watch a skyscraper on the horizon disappear into a cloud of flame.


	10. Return Trip

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Seven – Return Trip**

* * *

-Beaumonde-

-市金属天空-

* * *

Mal left the twins to their escape plan and marched back into the saloon. The bartender had since repositioned himself to the far corner of the bar area, his hand warily hanging over a concealed pistol.

"Don't get yourself all worked up," Mal told him. "We're leaving." He noticed Zoe, Simon and Kaylee sitting nearby in a booth where they wouldn't attract attention to themselves. Kaylee waved at Mal when they caught sight of each other.

Mal looked back at Isaiah. "What'd I tell you?" he said, almost gloating. "The lot of you are getting too predictable. I might have to hire on a new crew to shake things up."

"Predictable," Zoe agreed, "but we shoot in the right direction. That has to count for something."

"It certainly does. Now more than ever."

Zoe honed in on Mal's distressed demeanor. "What's happened?"

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed. "Captain."

"You folks need to trust me more often. It reflects poorly on us as a family unit."

Zoe looked to River. "What happened?"

River didn't miss a beat. "Your old friends have launched an attack on Alliance space in an attempt to overthrow Parliament and establish anarchy as the primary rule of law." She flinched. "But if anarchy is the most prevalent ruling system, is there a system at all? An inherent lack of a system is—"

"Old friends?" Zoe asked Mal, startled. "Is this true?"

"Most of it." Mal received a scowl from River. "All of it, actually. Boy, the trouble my choice of words can get me into."

"We _do_ know who's behind the terrorist attacks? I mean, we _are_ connected?"

"In some small way."

"Which 'old friends' is she talking about?" Zoe asked. "Who do we know that would want to put one over on the Alliance?"

Mal couldn't help but snicker a bit. "You mean people like us?" He shrugged. "Considering the crowd we used to run with, I don't think there's any shortage of 'em."

Zoe took a step back. "Someone who fought with us is doing this? Killing innocents?"

"Short answer: yes," Mal said. "Long answer: it sounds like _everyone_ who fought with us is in on this. Give or take one or two, which I presume includes you and me." He had never seen Zoe take on such a look of utter shock. "It's crazy, I know."

"Crazy? I could think of better words to describe this."

"Insane? Flabbergasting? Preposterous? Balmy?"

Zoe checked herself. "Balmy?"

"I've opened books before."

She ignored him. "So what are we gonna do?"

Mal thought to himself for a moment, but the impatient stares from his crew and the rest of the saloon put him ill at ease. He didn't much care for the music, either. "Let's get back to _Serenity_. Maybe something'll come to me there."

"And if nothing does?"

"Then we'll just fly in circles for a while. Not like we have much else to do—" A terrifying notion bubbled up into Mal's consciousness. He quickly grabbed River by the shoulder and pulled her close. "Little one, I need to ask you something."

"Shoot," River said.

"Let's say, hypothetically, you were the leader of a resistance army that wanted to cause a fuss in Alliance space. Where would you attack first?"

River blanked for a moment. "What rank do I have?"

"What?"

"Our insurrection would be off to a bad start if we had no command structure. What rank do I have?"

Mal turned away. "Zoe?"

"Persephone," she replied quickly, paling a bit. "God, Mal, we left Inara on that rock."

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅-

* * *

The building collapsed into an artificial lake, kicking up a wave that all but submerged the surrounding markets. The water rushed down the streets, collecting debris and helpless pedestrians who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. Shuttles frantically sped away into the air, their ascent vectors so steep and haphazard that a handful either stalled or collided into nearby structures.

Inara ran through the crowds, holding up the skirt of her dress so that she wouldn't trip herself. Chaos enveloped her, people running for their lives or struggling to move the dying away from the destruction. A man cut across Inara's path, a woman in his arms bleeding from a deep gash in her midriff, and disappeared back into the crowd.

The explosions hadn't stopped. Even if Inara couldn't see where they were coming from, she could hear the near and distant concussions, and the low rumble of skyscrapers falling back to earth. Screams filled in whatever silence remained in the discordance.

Her shuttle was stored just on the other side of the walkway, but her way was completely congested with debris and the fleeing masses. She pushed her way through, her arms outstretched in a knowingly vain attempt at giving herself a buffer. Something caught on her dress and she was yanked to the ground. A boot came down on her back, forcing out a cry of pain.

In a panic, Inara scrambled to get back on her feet, but was struck again by someone running blindly with the mob, screaming as he did. Adrenaline surged through Inara's form. She pushed herself up, caught a man by the shirt and pulled herself the rest of the way up. The man stumbled and looked at the companion as though she was insane, but almost instantly disappeared into the crowd.

It took a bit more fighting, but she made it to the entrance of the landing hub. She could see her shuttle there at the far end through the shivering curtain of heat formed by other hurriedly departing vehicles. Her mind was already forming the flight plan when she took her first step onto the platform—up through the smoke, break atmo, head for Centura, hail _Serenity_, wait for pickup—when she heard a loud report from somewhere up above.

The nearest skyscraper had taken damage from something, and the floors at its midsection were almost completely decimated. The entire structure swayed and a terrifying metallic moan heaved forth from the wreckage. Inara knew she didn't have long before the building came down. Not long enough to get her shuttle in the air, by any means. A steel beam fell from the skyscraper, plummeted three hundred feet to the ground where it struck with meteoric intensity.

Inara took this as her cue to run, though she had no idea where to go. The mobs around her were making the same discovery concerning the skyscraper, and scattered in every direction at once. Inara made for the lift that would take her to the undercity, almost hoping aloud that it wouldn't be occupied. Sure, it was tucked away and didn't see much use, but she couldn't imagine that she was the only one who knew about it.

More oversized pieces of the building struck the ground in rapid succession, and the skyscraper uttered a terrible death knell. She had only seconds before the surrounding neighborhood was buried beneath its remains.

She reached the lift and slammed her fist onto the call button, over and over. Someone had indeed used the lift, but it sounded as though the car was making its way back up. She pressed the button again, as if it would somehow force the car to arrive faster.

The skyscraper made one last resounding report and then slowly disappeared inside a cloud of debris. The earth shook. Pieces of the building rained down in a grand wave that had already consumed the shuttle landing hub, and was moving with blinding speed in Inara's direction.

Before she could scream, the door into the lift opened. She threw herself inside, slapping the button for the Mercantile Level. The doors closed painfully slow. There was a uplifting _ding_ and the car began to descend. Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized the pace wouldn't be enough.

"Oh, God..." was all she could say.

The lift shook violently as the collapsing skyscraper settled overhead. She was thrown off her feet and her head struck the safety railing on the way down. The lights in the car flickered, then died. Her head swam, but she didn't pass out, which she decided was profoundly disappointing.

The car stuttered once, twice.

And then the cable snapped.

* * *

-In the Black-

-淹沒在星星-

* * *

The cortex had already crashed a few times, only to be rebooted a minute later with the same horrific news stories in queue. Practically all of Alliance space was linked in, watching vids and reading streaming entries being uploaded from the somewhere in the chaos.

Persephone was burning. Most, if not all, of the Alliance fleet was being recalled to the Core in an attempt to stave off the attack. It was an easy mistake to make; with patrolling vessels suddenly gone, many backwater worlds sporting puppet governments suddenly found themselves overthrown by forces unknown.

It was a system-wide, orchestrated rebellion, the likes of which had not been seen since the Unification War. It had come out of nowhere and was succeeding—and it had only been a few hours since the first shot was fired.

Mal poured over the articles coming down the cortex, forgetting to blink often. The aggressors hadn't been properly identified, though the battleships and frigates shown hovering over the ruins of Perseus City were by no means state-of-the-art. They were ragtag, resurrected derelicts from a bygone era, but that didn't seem to matter; they had firepower where it mattered.

A single Alliance battle group had managed to fire the first return volley from orbit, but were very quickly set upon by another fleet of aggressor vessels. The battle group was brought down with little effort. Cortex censors got to work and clumsily erased all articles claiming the encounter had ever happened, quietly replacing them with other entries proclaiming that "The full might of the Alliance Fleet is about to be unleashed upon Persephone's cowardly attackers. Stay tuned for the full, sub-orbital encounter."

The cortex crashed again. Mal didn't wait for it to reboot. He stood from the copilot's seat and made a move toward his quarters. "Keep us full ahead, little one," he told River. "If she slows even the slightest, you get Kaylee on the intercom and yell at her until we speed up again."

_Serenity_ had been at full burn since leaving Beaumonde, and the command was nothing River needed to hear twice. Regardless, she swiveled around in her seat, made a formal salute, and then swung back around. "Full ahead. Aye, Captain."

"Right." He descended the stairs out of the cockpit, and was about to mount the ladder into his quarters when a voice stopped him.

"Forgive my counsel, if you would call it that," Isaiah said, approaching from the other end of the walkway, "but I must insist on an alternate course of action."

Mal shot him a sidelong glance. "Alternate?"

"Persephone is the place I was attempting to warn you away from. Heading back in the heat of a renewed civil war is..."

"Stupid? Outrageous? Imbecilic?"

Isaiah collected himself. "Inadvisable," he finished. "I don't want to see you throw yourself back into the danger you were free of. Your crew will likely suffer the consequences for it."

Mal's vision went red for a moment. He shook it off, taking a step toward the Operative. "And since when is the safety of my crew any concern of yours?" he said, venom weaving into his words. "By my last estimate, I've got two in the ground because of you. I'm not losing another. Not to _anyone_."

"You have every right to hate me, to kill me right here—"

"Nothing in the 'Verse would delight me more."

"I only want to help you, Captain Reynolds. It's all I have left in me to accomplish."

Mal stepped in closer until they were eye-to-eye. "If this is all just some redemption play for you, I won't allow it. _Nothing_ will make you right in my eyes, 'cause nothing's gonna bring back Wash and Book. And you best be grateful killing you wouldn't do the trick. You'd be dead before you hit the airlock."

Isaiah said nothing.

"I'm going back for Inara. _We're_ going back. She's on my crew. She's..." He trailed off, chasing visions of her through his mind until he snapped himself out of it. "If we're gonna burn for something, we'll burn for each other. And if you don't like it..." He pointed in the direction of the airlock. "There's the door."

Isaiah nodded, stepped back. "Understood, Captain," he said, then turned away down the hall.

Mal watched him go, blood boiling in his veins. He climbed down into his quarters and closed the shutter. His original intentions had been to come down here and think about what they'd do once _Serenity_ reached Persephone. But now rational thought was impossible.

He hated Isaiah. At any given moment, it took all he had not to march over to the man's room and empty a round into his skull. He'd killed better men for far less. So why was Isaiah still alive?

Mal drew the autorevolver from the holster at his hip. He pulled the hammer back, listened to the pack ring to life, and took aim at nothing in particular. The silence was filled in with voices from memory. He could hear Wash and he could hear Book, as clearly as if they were standing right next to him.

And maybe they were.

_"Vengeance is a road through total darkness,"_ Book had said to him once. _"You strike out blind, you never quite find what you're looking for, and it's difficult to make your way back—if you make it back at all. It's not even an option, really. If you're gonna go after something with that much passion, that much emotion, then why not pursue something a little more worthwhile? Somewhere where the road is brighter?"_

Mal paced his room, gun still in hand. Images of the ruins of Perseus City flashed through his mind. If Inara wasn't already dead, then she was somewhere she should never have been. And she was there because he left her.

Wash's voice spoke from memory. _"You know, there are very few— Don't lean on that switch, Mal, it's the... Yeah, thanks. Tailspin and death and all that. Anyway, yeah, there are very few things I'd kill a man over. People always say they kill for love. And I'm like... really? That's silly. You know why?_

_ "Because death can't save love, it can't destroy it. Someone could kidnap Zoe and hide her on some unnamed world where I'd never find her, and that love would still be there. You don't kill over something you never lose. But I would kill someone to save her. Not because I love her with the intensity of a thousand suns, but because I'm a selfish bastard. There's a difference._

_ "I wouldn't kill a man because I love Zoe. I'd kill a man because I couldn't live without her. The selfish, selfish space-faring bastard that I am."_

Mal sat on his bunk, cradled his face in his hands and thought of Inara.


	11. Vengeance Burns

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Interlude – Vengeance Burns**

* * *

-Serenity Valley-

-宁静山谷-

-Seven Years Ago-

-七年前-

* * *

The night sky continued to rain fire down upon Hera: a thousand promises for the Border Worlds burning up in atmo. They hadn't been such controversial or heretical ideas, really. They were a people just beyond the influence of the Alliance, with little reason to pay the substantial taxes they did, other than the fact that they were, indeed, still unified under the Alliance.

How many times had the Fed supply vessels failed to show? How many medical shipments had been delayed just long enough for hundreds of people to perish on account of simple things—like consumption or a common cold? Why should they fly the flag of a nation that had long since moved on, and left the Border to stagnate under heavy taxation? Because although the supply and medical ships never showed, the tax committee was _always_ on time.

Where was the justice in that?

So, there was an idea: to severe all ties to the Alliance, forge a new nation. The Independent Confederation. One of the more popular slogans to promote this idea was _A voice for one and all, and an ear to hear it!_ More importantly, it would be a nation where the transports would never be late.

Mal thought that was an idea worth fighting for, and possibly dying for. He'd seen families and entire worlds ravaged by inaction on the part of the Alliance and he knew he didn't want to see that ever again. He joined the Independents, though he never could've imagined he'd be fighting tooth and nail for them. After all that silence and all that indifference, the Alliance suddenly took an intense interest in what the Border Worlds were doing with their freedom. And they didn't like what they saw.

He remembered jokingly telling Matt Stokes one night, "Hell, their warships got here faster than the med shipment!"

Matt grinned and raised his glass of beer. "Ain't that the truth?" he said. "We should get in a war with these boys more often."

They laughed, had a good time.

Damn, that seemed like such a long time ago.

Presently, Mal gripped Matt by his coat and dragged him up the side of the hill, laser sights from a dozen Alliance soldiers aimed at their chests. His friend had lost too much blood, and his wounded leg was nearly useless now. And the new Fed policy was any Browncoat who fell behind would be rewarded with a bullet.

Several soldiers in Mal's unit had already received that prize along the trail. They didn't even let him grab their letters or dog tags. Matt was on his way out, too, but Mal wasn't going to let his friend go out like this.

"Not like this," he found himself muttering. Nobody seemed to hear him.

"Looking a little peaked there," one of the Alliance boys said, then clicked his tongue a few times. "Thought for sure you woulda packed it in by now."

Mal pulled Matt's listless body up the hill another couple of yards. He paused for a second to catch his breath, and in between exhausted gasps he said, "I've always... been a bit... stubborn... Character flaw... or so I've been... told..."

Another soldier raised his rifle with a flourish. "This is a waste of time," he said. "Let's just ghost the two of 'em and get to the LZ. We've got all the prisoners we need walking."

"Lieutenant says he wants them alive if they're still moving under their own power," the other replied. "_Alive_, Private. Don't do anything stupid. Just keep them climbing."

A few of the soldiers sighed loudly, but kept their rifles aimed at Mal and Matt.

_Alive? _Mal snickered to himself, pulled Matt a few yards more and stopped. "You know, I was there with the Fifty-Seventh Overlanders at Du-Khang, at Sturges, at Marathon, at Sun Kwan, at Antietam, at Cogburn Plateau—and we're still here," he said loudly, for all the soldiers to hear. "We had a running joke in the trenches for a long ol' time: that if God had your aim, we'd all be immortal."

A bullet wound bloomed into existence in Mal's shoulder, the pain from it sending him into the dust. He grunted through his teeth and fought back his urge to scream. The soldiers were fighting among themselves, one of them shouting into the crowd, "Stand down! Stand down!"

Despite the pain, despite the chaos, and despite the fact that it was very likely he would be executed when they reached the Alliance LZ, he found himself laughing.

Bleeding, dying, and on the edge of a surrendered battlefield—he laughed.

"You've lost it," he heard Matt mutter weakly. "You've... officially lost it."

Mal caught his breath and staved off the laughter. "Oh, it's been a long time coming, man."

Matt rolled over onto his side so he could face Mal. A nest of dirt and weeds clung to his beard. The life was nearly gone from his eyes. "It's not that I blame you, or nothin'. It's been a long damn night."

"Yes, it has," Mal echoed, eyes rolling up to meet the sky. "Yes, it has."

"So, what are we gonna do about this?" asked Matt.

Mal shook his head. "Not sure what you mean."

"You've got a plan, right?"

"Plan?"

"To get us out of this."

"To...? Oh, yeah, sure. I've got a plan. I figure if we jump up and yell real loud, we'll scare all twenty of 'em away long enough for us to steal their shuttle over the next hill. Take it back to Shadow, buy a round of drinks." He pressed his hand against his wound and winced. "Work in progress."

Matt smiled, but he seemed too weak to offer a laugh. "I've got a better one, Mal," he said. "But I'll need your help to get out of here."

"I know it's only been a minute, but you telling me that _I've_ lost it is seeming a little more unfair by the second."

Matt's face went humorless. Mal only saw that look when it was almost time to do battle. "I can get us away from these boys, Sarge. I just can't do it alone, and I won't do it without your go-ahead." The spark of adrenaline appeared behind his expression. "Requesting permission..." His voice tapered off.

Mal had always trusted Matt Stokes—with his life and countless other things. They had served together, side-by-side, through battle after countless battle. In the trenches, in the black, in places that weren't fit for combat. After all they'd been through, Zoe Alleyne would always be his second-in-command, but if she hadn't taken that job, Matt would've been next in a line that he alone composed.

He trusted him enough to know that whatever was about to come next would work, and that they'd be doing quite a bit of running in the near future. He didn't know if he had the strength for it, or if they'd make it a dozen yards before he collapsed. But between escape and the gallows, he was willing to take the long shot.

Mal nodded to Matt, grinning slightly. "Permission granted."

Matt smiled, his energy back-building. Something came to life within his form that Mal had thought dead and gone. The man moved with renewed strength, crawling over to where the Alliance soldiers were still locked in violent debate over who fired on the prisoner. Rank was being pulled, the shouting was devolving into blows.

Everyone was so distracted that the unfortunate soldier standing nearest to Matt didn't notice when the Browncoat reached up and, ever so delicately, yanked the pins from the soldier's grenade belt.


	12. When You Can't Run

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Eight – When You Can't Run**

* * *

They were three hours from Persephone when Mal decided sleep just wasn't going to happen. He'd tried, been trying, but his eyelids felt like they were taped to his brow. His legs jumped like he had all the energy in the 'Verse, never mind the fact he'd been up for nearly two standard days now.

He rolled out of bed and dropped onto his hands and knees.

"One... Two..." He started doing pushups as fast as he could manage. A song from his youth carried up from the depths of his mind: the one he used to sing out loud back in basic to keep his mind off the stress. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped onto the floor. "Twenty-two... Twenty-three..."

Mal started to sing:

"_Take my love, take my land,_

_Take me where I cannot stand._

_I don't care, I'm still free._

_You can't take the sky from me..."_

His arms started to give out as he neared one hundred. It had been a while since he'd felt the need to be in tiptop condition. These days, most of his exercise came from running.

And sword fighting.

Oddly enough.

Mal eased himself down onto his chest, letting the chilled steel plating cool him down. He was panting now, and he could feel his heart beating roughly, but his eyes were still wide awake. Residual echoes from his memories of Wash and Book still rattled around in his head, making his hand twitch every time they intensified.

_"I don't care what you believe in..."_

_"...just believe in it..."_

Mal stood up, toweled off and pulled on his casuals. "That's enough of that," he said.

He opened up the hatch out of his quarters and climbed the ladder out onto the causeway. Everyone seemed to be holed up in their quarters—besides River, of course. Didn't matter; he wasn't really in a conversing sort of mood, anyhow.

In the kitchen, he fixed himself a strong cup of green tea and managed to dig out a can of beans from the back corner of one of the cabinets. _For all the useless ways luck shines upon me..._ he mused, and lethargically carved up the can with a crank opener. He sat quietly at the kitchen table, eating the beans, drinking his tea, and unconsciously eying the chairs that had sat empty for some time.

Mal was almost done with his meal when he realized that beans and green tea didn't go together at all. He pushed them aside and stood from the table, pacing the room and looking up through the viewport where the stars still shone through. At least that much hadn't changed.

He paced aft and kept going, stepping over the knee-knockers without a mind for it. When he came to the engine room, he knocked on the door and leaned in without waiting for a reply. "Kaylee, how's she gonna handle if we run into—?" He cut himself short when he saw his mechanic prying her lips away from the doctor's. They both looked up, deer in the headlights.

"Oh! Cap'n!" Kaylee said, buttoning the top of her shirt. "There you are!"

"Oh, captain. Right." Mal coughed and stepped out of the room, embarrassed. "That's me. I order you, ah... As you were. Both of you. Don't mind me."

"Captain," Simon called out. He said something to Kaylee and chased after Mal. "Hey."

Mal turned around. "Hey?"

"Is everything all right?"

"As all right as things can be, I reckon." Mal nodded to the engine room. "I'll give you a few seconds next time I barge in." He turned away and descended the stairs to the infirmary.

Simon shook his head and followed after. "Are you sure everything's all right?" he asked, unconvinced.

Mal cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "You seem to be implying thing's ain't all right in my camp. You wanna speak your piece, you're more'n welcome to do so."

"You just—" Simon cut Mal off at the infirmary entrance. "You look a little pale."

Mal thought up an excuse in a hurry. "Bad tea, bad beans," he said smoothly. "Signed myself up for a bumpy ride tonight."

Simon seemed to savor Mal's faltering facade for a moment. "You'll never be able to just admit it, will you?"

Mal shrugged. "Admit what?"

"You've... _What_? What do you mean 'admit what'?" Simon counted on his fingers. "You opted into a fencing match to defend her honor. With real _swords_, no less. _Swords_, Mal. You faced down an Alliance operative to rescue her. You've... There was..." He pointed at Mal. "You _love_ her!"

"Do not."

"You do!"

"Listen, Doctor, are you gonna get around to why you followed me down here? 'Cause I'm just gonna keep walking up and down the stairs if you ain't. One of us will pass out eventually, and either way: I win."

"I just..." Simon paused to get his thoughts in order. "I just want to know you're okay."

"You don't need to worry. I'm not gonna steer us into an asteroid just to see what colored explosion we give off on impact. I know what I'm doing."

"And this isn't about Wash? Or Book?"

"As much as it ever was," Mal snapped.

"I'm sorry, Mal," Simon said, backing off the point. "Was just curious. I know what's going on in River's mind more often than yours."

"That's... I guess that is a little scary." Mal shivered. "Look, thanks for keeping tabs on me, but it ain't necessary. We're gonna go in, find Inara and bring her back—one way or another."

Simon broke eye contact. "I hear things are really bad on Persephone, Mal. What if..."

Mal nodded, catching his meaning. "One way or another, Doctor. She's coming home." He turned away toward the cargo hold. "Best see to Kaylee, and know that I'm glad I decided not to pay y'all by the hour."

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅 -

* * *

It was the eternal scenario: darkness broken by a tunnel of white light. Inara briefly considered walking toward the light, meeting her maker halfway. But her legs, gosh, they were killing her. She tried to move, but her ankle rubbed against something sharp that cut her deep. She yelped, and her voice seemed to disappear at her lips. Her leg warmed as blood ran down it, then it chilled.

The light grew brighter.

"Help," she whispered.

Voices seemed to call back to her. She couldn't understand them. Were they here to take her away to the afterlife? Was she moments away from reincarnation and life as a... butterfly? Or something like that?

To be honest, she admitted to herself, that would be quite lame.

The light got brighter; it parted the darkness with a mechanical whine. The sound seemed a little strange, but who was she to question her maker's workings? The darkness was all but banished, and a dozen hands reached out from the light, cradling her gently, and carrying her away into some second life. She could hear herself laughing.

"She's alive," her maker said. "Get her to triage. Now!"

–

When Inara woke again, she could hear moaning, screaming. Her eyelids struggled to stay open and her vision swam. She attempted to sit up, but a pain in her chest sent her right back down onto an oddly-stuffed pillow. She reached into the pillow case and her hand brought back a wad of napkins.

"Odd..." she muttered.

She blinked a few times and brought her arm up to rub the weariness from her eyes. That's when she noticed she was tethered to something. She brought her arm closer and saw the IV line taped to her wrist, clear fluid pumping into her veins. The resulting kick of adrenaline cleared her vision up some, and she was able to make out the ceiling of quartz crystals above her.

"Make another round in the furniture store. Check IV drips and make sure our priorities are breathing regularly." The crystal ceiling was eclipsed by a head of curly, black hair. The woman's face slowly came into focus, and she was smiling wearily. "You're awake, I see."

Inara tried to say something, but it just came out as an exhale. Her throat was abnormally dry.

"Don't try to talk if you can't manage it. Here." The woman propped Inara's head up and placed a straw in her mouth. Inara took a drink of cold water, as much as she could. "There you go," the woman said.

Inara eased herself back down onto the napkin pillow, feeling the water bubble down into her stomach. "Where am I?" she was able to ask.

The woman checked the IV line and something else Inara couldn't see. "Someplace I wish we weren't," she said, exhausted. "But don't worry. Everything's fine for now."

"I have to..." Inara's mouth was dry again. "My shuttle..."

"It'd be better if you try not to think about the things you left behind," the woman suggested. "There's not much left above ground. And those attack ships up there are still glassing whatever's still standing."

"Attack ships..." Inara suddenly remembered the crumbling buildings, the debris. The bodies. She sat herself up in a hurry. Too fast; her head went foggy. "I have to talk to Mal."

"Easy there, miss." The woman pressed Inara back onto the pillow. She didn't have to try very hard. "If you have loved ones you want to contact, we're working on it. All of our transmitters are out and we're sitting beneath a lot of interference and debris, but it'll get fixed. By the time you're rested, we should have it all up and running."

"Mal..."

"Don't worry, miss. The best thing you can do for yourself, and for your family, is to rest. You won't get better any other way. Do you understand me?"

Inara managed to nod.

"Good." The woman gripped Inara by the shoulder. "My name's Shanti. If you need anything, just holler and one of us will find you. Understand?"

"Yes." Inara nodded.

"What do you do when you need help? Let me hear it."

"Holler."

"Good," Shanti said and patted Inara on the shoulder before she disappeared from sight. "I'll be close by."

Inara tried to follow Shanti's voice, but ended up staring at another patient. It was an older man, balding, a mile of gauze wrapped around his midsection. Blood was still showing through it. His eyes were open, locked on the ceiling, but when he blinked, his eyelids just flickered a little; they never shut all the way. His breathing was slow, labored, and his skin was frightfully pale.

Inara turned her head in the opposite direction. Another patient. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, the body was practically encased in gauze and any exposed skin was burned red and black. Inara flinched. Her pulse quickened.

She sat up, and the same scene repeated itself over and over until she lost sight of them around a corner. Hundreds of bodies, some on the floor, some on cots, all of them lying down, writhing or perfectly still. A scream rose up from the masses, and a woman in a tattered dress rushed over to one of the bodies. She was asking questions loudly, but the patient continued screaming.

The woman in the dress called for help and a man in formal wear, a stethoscope around his neck, ran up to assist the woman. They both shook their heads, said something quietly and leaned over the patient. The screams faded and stopped.

The woman in the dress placed a hand over her mouth. The man continued shaking his head.

Inara started to cry. "Mal..." she whispered. "Help me."

* * *

-In the Black-

-淹沒在星星-

* * *

_Serenity_ was running on low power, drifting through a graveyard.

The crew assembled in the cockpit, watching as debris harmlessly bounced off their hull. River pulled the yoke to take them up and over another eviscerated Alliance cruiser.

Jayne propped himself up against the railing in front of the viewport. "What in the ruttin' hell humped this orbit?" His eyes bounced between the dozens of derelict ships floating in front of them.

"I do not know," Mal said, more than a bit stunned, himself. "You don't see carnage like this every day."

"Not outside of Sturges," Zoe corrected. "Captain, that's an entire Alliance fleet burning out there."

"It does appear..."

"What kind of firepower could ragtag Browncoats have possibly scrounged up to do this kind of damage?"

"Maybe our reinforcements from the Valley finally showed?"

"Captain—"

Mal waved her down. "I know what you're gettin' at, Zoe. I'm just as eager to find out, myself."

Zoe grimaced at the destruction outside the viewport. "_Eager_ isn't the word I'd have used," she corrected. "There's not much we can do against something that can wipe out a fleet. Except provide a moving target."

"Wouldn't count among our worst ideas," Mal said.

Jayne nodded. "It'd have to beat out the time you wore that dress."

"And still, you continue to shame me."

Zoe scoffed. "I still don't know why you didn't just have me wear the dress."

"Tactics, woman!" Mal threw his hands up. "We're getting off base, here. Albatross, can you get us to the surface without getting blown to pieces?"

River looked up. "How many pieces?"

"Well, I mean... without getting blown up _at all_, really. One piece, preferably."

"You can never go anywhere without losing a piece of yourself..." River caught herself. "Y-yes, _Captain_, I can get us to the surface." It seemed to pain her to speak normally.

"Good." Mal took another look at the debris outside the window. Zoe was right. He hadn't seen this much wreckage since the war—but it hadn't been Alliance corpses swimming in the black that time. The tables had turned, apparently in the Browncoats' favor.

He should've been positively overjoyed... but he wasn't.

Not one bit. Inara was the only thing on his mind right now.

He spotted Persephone through the clouds of wreckage. "Take us down, Albatross."


	13. Watch How I Soar

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Nine – Watch How I Soar**

* * *

"Are you still awake?"

"Yeah, I'm awake. I can... You sound far away."

"That's okay. As long as you can still hear me."

"I can still hear you, Inara."

"Are your legs still bothering you? Can you move them?"

"I don't..."

"Are you feeling pain anywhere else?"

"I don't know... I don't feel much."

"Where?"

"I don't feel much. I just feel cold."

"I'll go get you some more blankets."

"Don't, Inara... Don't... You've already... I already have yours."

"That's okay."

"You should take them back. You need them, too."

"I'm fine, love. Don't worry about me."

"I did... When the tunnel collapsed... I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that."

"But I am."

"Why would you say that?"

"I don't... Inara, when that tunnel collapsed, all I could think of... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... All I could think of was you."

"You're not stupid for that."

"I am. I... God... I know how this works."

"What do you mean?"

"I know Companions aren't supposed to make connections with clients. It's unprofessional."

"That's a misconception, love."

"It is?"

"Yes." Inara squeezed Charon MacKindle's hand tighter. "It is."

Charon blinked out tears and smiled. "That's good," she said weakly. "I'm glad."

Inara ran a hand through Charon's hair. "Why's that?"

Charon didn't seem to hear the question. She winced a little. "Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Of course, I have."

"With a client?"

"Charon MacKindle." Inara rested her chin on Charon's arm. "What are you worried about?"

"I'd just..." Charon's body tensed briefly. "I'd just like to hear that you have a good life. That would make me happy."

Inara's thoughts, unabated, drifted to her shuttle, _Serenity_, her crew.

Her captain.

"I have a good life, Charon," Inara admitted with a grin. "Always have stars in my eyes."

Charon laughed, then coughed. She kept coughing. Blood coated her bottom lip.

Inara held her close. "Don't stop fighting, love." She frantically looked around for a doctor. "I need help over here!"

"It's all right, Inara," Charon said.

"Please!" No one among the cots took notice.

"It's all right," she whispered. "It was."

Inara leaned in. "What was?"

Charon closed her eyes and nodded carefully. "It was a good day."

Inara kissed Charon on the lips, doing her best not to cry. "It was."

Charon exhaled. Her parting gift: a kind smile.

* * *

-In the Black-

-淹沒在星星-

* * *

River continued plotting _Serenity_'s descent toward Persephone, though they hadn't yet reached the edge of the debris field. Chunks of hull and cross-sectioned attack ships collided soundlessly in front of the viewport, creating transient plumes of fire and frozen oxygen as decks decompressed. Mal's hand still sat next to the comm board. He'd had to switch it off; too many distress calls from trapped crewers coming in from all frequencies.

"Keep our runnin' as cool as possible," Mal said to River, his eyes scanning for any hint of the enemy. "We used a lot of heatseekers during the war, and the wreckage around here'll do plenty to hide us."

River didn't reply. She turned the yoke to angle one of _Serenity_'s thrusters away from a debris cluster.

Isaiah's head tracked a large frigate off to port. His mouth formed words that weren't said, and Mal couldn't help but wonder what the Operative was thinking: seeing Alliance ships torn up in such a way.

"I'm not so sure they'll be using heatseekers, primarily," Isaiah finally said. "Some of the blast scars on these ships aren't close to the engines. It's very likely they have eyes out here."

The crew stopped whatever they were doing to cast confused glances at Isaiah, who proceeded to stare at the floor.

"Captain," Zoe said, "why is our passenger still aboard?"

Mal pretended he hadn't heard. "What's that?"

"Our passenger from Persephone. Why didn't he get off at Beaumonde?"

"Um." Mal thought quickly. Nothing came of it. "Oh, that's right! You wanted to get dropped off on Beaumonde, huh? Well, after we're done here, we'll get you planetside. Right as rain. Not this planet, though. A better one. With... birds and such."

"Captain..." Zoe was in no mood. Not that Mal could blame her, what with bodies and ship debris bouncing off the ship's hull.

"He has, erm... _operational knowledge_ of what we're up against out here."

"How?"

Mal gave her a look to end the conversation. "I honestly didn't ask."

Zoe was clearly thinking of prying further, but cut herself short. She looked over to Isaiah. "He talks like Book," she said.

"Which makes one wonder," Mal quietly added.

"When we get to Persephone," Simon spoke up, "how are we going to track down Inara?"

Mal nodded to his console. "We hope her shuttle's beacon is still singin' pretty. It should, but if not, I know a few places to look."

Kaylee sighed. "I hope she didn't go to Perseus when we left her." She shook her head. "But she probably did. All those nice 'n' fancy dresses she has, that's the only place you can buy 'em."

"Lot more whorin' opportunities there, too," Jayne dutifully pointed out.

"Hey!" Kaylee said.

Mal spun around in his copilot's seat. "Jayne..." He let the implied threat hang there between them.

"Woah!" Jayne threw up his hands. "Yer the one who's always callin' her that!"

"That's _our_ word."

"I ain't gettin' shot down for this one. I'ma say what I know yer thinkin'." Jayne took a moment to work up the courage. "Better whorin' avenues in Perseus."

Mal sat up from his seat. Jayne took a step back and accidentally tripped down the stairs out of the cockpit. The crew watched with pained expressions until Jayne hopped up on his feet and, with a forced show of dignity, brushed himself off.

"You all right there?" Simon asked.

Jayne nodded at Mal. "That's what I thought."

"Yeah, you..." Mal sat back down. "You definitely got me."

"They got us!" River shouted, her right hand darting from panel to panel. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"What's got us?" Mal queried, feeling around for the seatbelt. "You about to—?"

"Thrilling heroics." She pulled up on the yoke, throwing _Serenity_ into a cluster of derelicts. The crew were nearly knocked off their feet.

"This might be one of those times," Mal spouted over his shoulder. The crew took the hint and left for the kitchen and the crash couches. "What're you seein', Little One?"

River maneuvered _Serenity_ behind a drifting battlecruiser—

Just as a RAD missile streamed in, striking the cruiser port side. The derelict surged toward the firefly, blotting out the sun.

"That's a—_OOF_!" Mal's words were choked off as River took them around the hull of the cruiser, _Serenity_'s engines running hot. She effortlessly dodged comms arrays, the extended bridge, and a fountain of debris spilling out the massive vessel. When they were in the clear, River guided _Serenity_ back toward the debris field, and more cover.

Mal was still pressed into the back of his seat. He forced himself to ease forward and take in their situation. He took a few deep breaths and pointed at River. "Don't know if I've told you this before, but you clearly have some aptitude for the, ah..." A dozen more RAD missiles burned into view. "Oh..."

River rolled her eyes. "Kaylee needs to be in the engine room," she said, remarkably calm. "_Serenity_ won't dance without her."

"Yeah." Mal absently reached up and pulled down the receiver. "Kaylee, I need you in the engine room as fast as your legs'll allow, please."

There was a crackle as Kaylee picked up another receiver. _"What kind of problem, Captain?"_

"The crashy, explody kind, dear."

_"Again?"_

"Kaylee!"

_"On it, Cap!"_

Jayne's exclamations just barely made it through. _"Explode? I don't wanna explode—!"_

Mal hung up the receiver. "All right, that's half the problem taken care of," he said, his eyes tracking the missiles. "Just tell me you can take care of the other half, Little One."

River nodded and set her jaw. "Can do."

* * *

-Persephone-

-珀耳塞福涅 -

* * *

Inara placed a hand on the man's shoulder and showed him the bottle of water. He nodded his head and allowed Inara to tip the water into his mouth. He drank thirstily, but Inara stopped when the bottle was half empty. They'd had started rationing food and water a few hours ago.

"More?" the man asked. Inara shook her head and the man seemed to understand. "Thank you."

Inara went to the next row of cots and offered water to another man. He accepted it, but only a little. She moved on to the next row, but had to stop. The pain from her ribs made standing and walking a bit of a chore. She sat down on the floor, her back leaned up against the storefront window of a clothing shop.

Her breather didn't make the pain go away, but at least it wasn't getting any worse.

_Little things_, she mused.

Shanti weaved her way through the cots toward Inara. "You okay?" she asked as soon as she was within speaking distance.

Inara nodded and gave a thumbs up, hoping Shanti would move on to someone else. No such luck.

"For being as hurt as you are, you shouldn't be up and walking around," Shanti said. She lifted up Inara's blouse just a little to examine the bruising around her ribs. "Swelling's going down a little. You should be back on your cot getting some rest."

"Thank you, Shanti," Inara said lightly. "I appreciate you keeping an eye on me, but you need all the help you can get."

"Not arguing that," Shanti replied, letting her exhaustion get the better of her for a brief moment. "We're fine, though. Your help will be welcome, but only after you've recovered."

Inara looked toward the makeshift triage, at the veritable field of bodies propped up on cots of all sorts. "I can't just lie down and do nothing."

"You won't be doing nothing," Shanti insisted. "Once you get better, you can help with the wounded. You'll also be freeing up a cot in the process. But if you mess up your insides before then, you'll be down longer, you'll be using a cot longer, and we'll be treating you longer. You resting helps everyone in the long run, Inara."

Inara smiled, finding the woman's honestly refreshing. "I understand."

"Good!" Shanti winked. "You'll be up in no time, trust me." She leaned over to help Inara onto her feet. Inara accepted her help, and they made their way over to a free cot. "Thank you, just the same. Your heart's in the right place, girl."

"I should say the same for you," Inara said, easing herself down onto the cot. "How do you keep going, Shanti? With all this death... How do you stay on your feet?"

Shanti smiled warmly. She didn't have to think very long. "Seeing people that I've helped up on their feet, talking, alive. It's infrequent under these conditions, but when I see it, it's the wind in my sails, girl."

Shanti took her leave when Inara was comfortable on the cot, disappearing into the crowds at the edge of the makeshift triage. Inara settled down, taking special notice of her pillow, which was decidedly not stuffed with napkins this time. She crossed her arms over her navel and tried to find some sleep, though she began to remember why she'd felt the need to keep busy in the first place.

She could still see Charon dying. It was all that fought to stay on her mind.

Inara cried again, and brought her arm up to wipe away the tears, but the motion sent a jolt of pain through her body. She groaned, but didn't scream. Anger replaced sadness, and all that was on her mind now was, _Why is this happening?_

_Why did Charon MacKindle have to die?_

As if to answer her question, she saw a large man move through her periphery. He wore a brown coat.

* * *

-In the Black-

-淹沒在星星-

* * *

Mal remembered the day he'd purchased _Serenity_ from that fast-talking salesman on Wolfram. One has certain expectations when they buy a starship—"dreams" might be a better word. Moving from job to job, finding honest work, keeping to the skies. The honest stuff had gone out the airlock pretty much the same day, when Mal was forced to carry a load of forged ID cards to Lilac to pay for the firefly's registration.

That had been a surprising turn of events, but Mal had been working under the assumption that things would only get less exciting from there.

"If you can't laugh at yourself..." he muttered, as River guided _Serenity_ into a barrel roll around a cluster of drifting Alliance fighters. The pursuing RAD missiles once again missed their target, destroying the wreckage instead. The firefly shuttered against the expanding gas from the explosions.

"I don't pretend to know how you got so formidable with the controls, River," Mal said through exhales.

River grinned, her eyes looking down at the plastic dinosaurs on the panel. "I had a good teacher."

"Ah." Mal understood; in part. Though, he wondered if he should ask her to elaborate when all of this was over and done with. There were more imperative matters at hand. "Did Wash teach you how to dodge a couple dozen of those things?" He pointed at the viewport, where another volley of RAD missiles ascended from Persephone. They moved seamlessly through the black, and they had a clear shot.

River didn't answer. She just stared.

"Uh..." Mal knocked on the console to get her attention. "Sweetie? Darlin'? Anytime you're up for dodgin' those things..."

River brought her hand down on her comms board. "Kaylee, are you in the engine room?"

_"I'm here, River,"_ Kaylee replied over the whining of the engine. _"What do ya need?"_

"_Serenity_ needs to be ready for a hard burn."

_"Oh, okay... Are we runnin'?"_

"We're landing."

_"Oh... I guess that makes sense. We're not landing nose-first, are we?"_

"Light as a feather."

_"I gotcha, River. She'll be ready."_

"Thank you." River clicked off the comm and turned to Mal. "Captain, can you watch the temperature readouts and tell me when we break optimal levels? I won't have much time to compensate in atmo."

"Yeah..." Mal lit up the temp gauges. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but you know entering atmo during a hard burn isn't very fun, right?"

River said nothing as she continued to tweak _Serenity_'s systems, transferring power back and forth and back again. The missiles drew closer.

"I mean, entering atmo isn't fun, period, but doin' it while the engines are hot plays havoc with the ship's approach vector. Shrinks that target you have to hit by—"

"Eighty-four percent," River finished without looking up from the console.

"Okay." Mal nodded wearily and gave a thumbs up. "As long as we're on the same page. But if I might inquire what you're thinking of..."

"Get some distance on 'em." River turned the yoke, aiming _Serenity_ at one of the larger derelicts in the debris field. "You come to the flats, I want you to swing 'round."

Mal leaned forward, trying to figure out what the girl was planning. "What are you talking about?"

_Serenity_'s nose lined up with the opened maw of an Alliance carrier. River nodded. "Gonna try a Barn Swallow."

Mal looked at the carrier, the opened flight deck, then to River and back again. "No... You're not really gonna... _Come on_..."

River opened up the thrusters, catapulting them through the debris field. The firefly maneuvered within a few meters of large objects that could've poked very unfortunate holes in their containment. River didn't blink.

"I don't know if we're gonna make it..." Mal said; the missiles were close enough to mess with _Serenity_'s sensors. But River didn't alter course. She just kept flying toward that cruiser. "Are we gonna make it?"

"Light as a feather," she repeated.

Just before the missiles were able to connect with _Serenity_, they flew into the safety of the carrier's flight deck. The RAD missiles tore the ship apart around them, collapsing decks, sending fire through exposed hatches. Everything went dark. River piloted through the chaos by random instances of firelight.

"Prep for hard burn," she said.

It took a second for Mal to process the words. He forced his fingers to divert power and charge the engine. "Prepped!" he shouted.

The floor began to shudder as the engine kicked into overdrive and stored output. The darkened flight deck lit up brightly as _Serenity_'s reactor glowed with energy. Several systems shut down to compensate.

"She always did love to dance," River whispered.

The firefly tore into a hard burn, rocketing out the other end of the flight deck just as the carrier's fuel cells exploded. Within seconds they were at Persephone's door, lining up an approach that for any other pilot should've been impossible. But before Mal could even find the time to panic, _Serenity_ burst through atmo with a brief, but furious, display of light and sound, and drifted casually toward the ruins of Persephone below.

Light as a feather.


	14. The Colors They Fly

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Ten – The Colors They Fly**

* * *

They put the sun behind them, flying east until the skies went dark. _Serenity_'s sensors told the crew they were flying low over Perseus City, but not as they knew it; the light from the firefly's thrusters revealed a never-ending expanse of rubble, punctuated in places by flames that shot up through the ground like buried furnaces. It reminded Mal of a passage from some holy book his compatriots would sometimes recite during the war.

_Hell will seek the skies if good men fail to keep it buried._

The last time he'd even thought about those words, he was looking out over a similar sight, burying the soldiers who'd engrained those words into his mind. There was an odd sense of familiarity to everything Mal was seeing through the viewport. Except this time the Browncoats were on the winning side.

_Winning side_, he wondered. _But are they on the right side?_

With one hand on the yoke and another plucking switches on the sensor panel, River confidently guided the firefly through the ruins of the city, between the footprints of collapsed skyscrapers and crashed starships that were canted up into the sky like mountainous crags. _Serenity_ was running dark over the abandoned streets, but Mal was almost certain the rebel ships that hovered up there in the night had no doubt spotted them.

But who wants to waste munitions on a firefly?

"I've got it!" River tapped her finger on the sensor panel. "Inara's shuttle is still singing!"

Mal jogged over from the copilot's seat and looked over River's shoulder. The beacon in Inara's shuttle showed up on the screen in the form of a pulsing blue dot. "Yeah, but it looks like she's missin' a few notes," he said, taking notice of how weak the signal was. "Set us down as close as you possibly can to it—but not directly on top of it, if you can manage. Nothing ends a search party quicker than a misplaced landing strut."

"A few of the skyscrapers have fallen into the lake, displacing much of the water. The area around the shuttle is heavily flooded."

"The Mule will be able to stay above the water, but it'll burn more fuel than usual. Won't be able to hover around for very long, so get us close. Real close, Little One."

River nodded and turned back to the viewport—then toward Mal again. "Without crushing the shuttle."

"Without crushing the shuttle," Mal said. "Preferably."

–

River set _Serenity_ down atop a collapsed office building across from a shuttle landing bay: the source of the beacon, though a shuttle landing bay would be a logical place to start searching, regardless. Mal opened the interior hatch and let the ship's loading ramp lower itself into the water that was still pushing its way through the city. Zoe was getting the Mule prepped with supplies while Kaylee finished up a bit of last minute maintenance.

The one thing Mal didn't want to think about was what Simon was fetching from the infirmary. It was possible they might find Inara in or near the wreckage in the shuttle, and he was sure she wouldn't be in the best shape of her life in either case. The landing bay had taken a direct hit, after all...

He took his mind off it and helped Jayne load a few boxes of ammunition onto the Mule.

"I got no love for the Alliance," Jayne said, locking up the ammo bins. "A man tells me I can't go my way, he's got another thing comin'. A bullet, probably. But burnin' down a world like this?" He stopped for a moment to cast a glance out through the hatch, at the ruined city that went on into the horizon. "Hell, these people weren't soldiers. Weren't nothing close. Don't make no sense, it ain't right."

"Few things have made sense lately," Mal said, indulging in the same view. "All we can do is help our own and let the boys with the orbital cannons sort this thing out."

"I know me a thing or two about the Independents. I know they ain't never glassed a city packed to the ceiling with civilians."

"Not that were were in any position to. But... no, we didn't. We wouldn't have." Flooding and rubble and fires from beneath it all. Mal couldn't look anywhere else. "That ain't our way."

Zoe looked up. "We had a way?"

"Not gettin' shot. That was a pretty substantial item on the to-do list."

Kaylee rolled out from under the Mule on her creeper. She rapped her wrench on the floor to get Mal's attention. "Everything's shiny with the Mule, Cap," she said, wiping away some oil on her cheek with her sleeve. "I tweaked the accelerometer so she'll give you more stability on the water. Just don't drive her over any really deep spots, or she'll sink like a rock tied to a, ah... bigger rock?"

Mal shrugged. "What, should I take depth readings every few yards?"

"No, there's not really any set depth. But the Mule'll let ya know when you're over deep water."

"How?"

"I did say she'll sink like a rock, right?"

"That you did." Mal held up a hand. "Everyone listen up! When we're out there, if you happen to notice your head's below water and you are drowning, that means we went too far. If you're still alive, flail your arms around or exhale bubbles in sequence, and I'll throw 'er in reverse."

Kaylee crossed her arms in a huff. "That's the way it's gonna be, huh?"

"Yes'm." Mal kissed Kaylee on the forehead. "I'm sure we won't drown, sweety."

"Kinda hopin' you do, now."

"Not to worry," Zoe said, claiming the driver's seat for herself, "Captain'll pull us all back to _Serenity_ by the teeth." She smiled and adjusted the Mule's yoke. "Won't you, sir?"

Mal laughed nervously. "Ah ha... Probably not, because I can't swim."

Zoe continued smiling, as though the joke was still pressing on, but she must have seen something in Mal's expression that got her questioning. "No, I've seen you swim before."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, there was that time on... No, wait..." She fell back into memory for a second and came back paled. "Oh, my God..."

"I'm sure there's nothin' to it, right? Just like riding a bike."

"Sir, I've... never seen you ride a bike, either."

Jayne snickered. "When he goes belly up, we can use 'im as a float."

Mal shot him a questioning look. "You know, you say these things and still think I'm gonna bring you along. Why is that?"

"'Cause I can swim and shoot and lift heavy things. I was born for this mission."

Simon returned from the infirmary just then and immediately loaded up his medical bags into one of the Mule's lockers. "Packed an IV, adrenaline, oxycodone, and a few other items just in case she's—"

"Doctor," Mal cut in. Simon looked up. "I don't want to know until I need to know."

"Right." Simon closed up the lockers. "Sorry, Mal."

"No need to be." Mal thought it was time for one of their pre-job talks, even though it felt a little odd, given the situation. "All right. Inara's shuttle is just on the other side of this courtyard, but it's singing from beneath what could be a few tons of rubble. We're not experts here, so I don't wanna place anyone in harm's way.

"We hop over there, take a look around, and do what digging we can to see if Inara's still inside. If she's not, our job will be made a bit more unpleasant. If she is..." He trailed off, unpleasant possibilities flaring up within his mind. "Let's just do all we can. Okay?"

Jayne and Simon hopped into the Mule with Zoe. Isaiah stood in the doorway at the rear of the cargo bay, perhaps as a subtle way of offering his help, but Mal wasn't about to accept it—subtle or unsubtle. He just wouldn't be able to handle it. If Inara was dead somewhere under that rubble, the last thing in the 'Verse he'd want to see is the man who took the last two members of his crew.

He'd kill Isaiah if that happened. He knew it, absolutely. The thing that surprised him, though: he didn't want the Operative dead. Not just yet, anyway.

Mal punched the intercom. "Little One, you stay with the _Serenity_ for now. If any of those ships flying overhead start paying a little too much attention to us, I want you to dust this city and keep yourself hidden until we call you back." He paused for a moment. She didn't answer, and he was pretty sure he knew why. "You didn't come down here because you knew all that already."

There was a click through the speaker. _"Roger that,"_ River said.

"Well, okay then."

_"Good luck, Captain."_

"Thanks." He clicked off the comm. "All we need is that girl's luck," he whispered to himself.

_"I heard that."_

"I know you did." Mal boarded the Mule and nodded to Zoe. "Sink or swim time."

"Sink time, apparently." Zoe still seemed ill at ease thinking Mal couldn't swim. Mal had lied, of course, but he didn't want to correct her just yet.

"You're a good swimmer, right?" he asked, bluntly. It took everything he had not to crack a smile. "You can pull us both back to shore if you had to, couldn't ya? Zoe?"

Zoe sighed and looked out at the water with a faint hint of dread. "Like riding a bike, sir."

–

Inara pushed her way through the crowds, sidestepping the mountains of inventory that had been pulled out of the surrounding stores to make room for more injured. The mood was lethargic, with listless gazes and slow movements. It had been days since the attack and the mythical Alliance rescue party hadn't materialized just yet. Food and water reserves were running low, the dead were being taken away and stored in a sporting goods store, which was now nearly filled to the entryway, and several groups had already ventured out into the ruins above, bringing back nothing of worth.

Power to most of the Mercantile Level had gone out, but someone had managed to keep a few of the lights on. Specifically, the lights aimed at the quartz crystals overhead. It was enough to allow Inara to continue tracking her quarry.

Monty Ross, the man with the brown coat, hadn't stopped walking since Inara had spotted him a little over an hour ago. He was trying to remain inconspicuous; dodging large crowds or anyone who even resembled a person of authority. He was making his way toward one of the only exits that hadn't collapsed, which was a ten story climb up a staircase and into a plaza that was beginning to take on a little too much water.

Inara wasn't sure why this man wanted an exit or why he had chosen this time to find it, but he had known about the attack before it had happened. She didn't want to make her presence known to him just yet, but she would eventually make her move—and she'd have a few questions for the man when that time came.

–

"Hold!" Mal called out. Jayne hesitated on the next chunk of debris. "Okay, one more piece."

Jayne grunted loudly as he picked up the hunk of cement. "All this stop an' go is gettin' tiresome, Mal." He pushed the cement off the side of the mound and spat on the ground near Mal's feet. "I bet it's loads easier to flap yer jaw like that when I'm the one doin' all the work."

"Believe it or not, Jayne, I'm not trying to trick you into doin' all the work."

"This time!"

"Right, this time."

Zoe leaned over. "I thought you really were messing with him this time."

"No, no. We save all that stuff for his birthday, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Zoe smiled at a memory.

"Ain't funny!" Jayne pulled himself out of the hole he'd dug. "No sense in just one person diggin' like an idiot. With all of us, we'd be done by now."

"Jayne," Mal began, "we are sitting on an awful lot of rubble here, and it ain't exactly sturdy. If we all get in there, throwing rocks around like crazy, we're likely to cause a cave-in."

"Then why do _I_ gotta do all the liftin'?" He motioned to Simon. "The doctor ain't hardly a wuss. He can pitch in."

"You wanted to come," Mal said indifferently. "You were _born_ for this mission. Aint' that what you said?"

Jayne spat again. "Whatever." He bent down to pick up another piece of cement, but stopped. He ran a hand along something at the bottom of his pit. "That ain't no rock."

Mal climbed down into the pit with Jayne, stopping with every step to listen and feel for any hint of instability in the collapsed structure. The object Jayne had taken an interest in was the front viewport of Inara's shuttle. He frantically brushed away some of the dust and tried to get a look inside.

"Mal?" Simon asked, concerned.

"I need a light," Mal said, ignoring the doctor. "Light! Now!"

Zoe quickly pulled a flashlight from her belt and tossed it down to him. "Is the shuttle intact?"

"Front viewport's fractured, but otherwise, yeah." Mal shone the light inside the shuttle. The fact that it was intact wouldn't make a difference if she was trapped; it had been days and Inara took little more than tea and a few biscuits during her "encounters."

If she hadn't starved, she'd be damn close.

"Is she in there?" Simon asked.

Mal moved the light around a little more. "I don't see her in there."

"But that's her shuttle," Zoe said.

"Yeah."

"Then she got out. It's a landing bay, after all."

Mal had hoped the search would end quickly; that they would find Inara in her shuttle and that would be the end of it. But the shuttle was at the end of a cold trail. In a city that once housed millions, as destroyed as it was now, he couldn't hope to find her if he searched for years on end.

And the thought had crossed his mind.

A moment of panic beset him. He paced the pit, suffocated on all sides by mindless slaughter and destruction. Death done in the name of the cause he fought and nearly died for. He saw a twisted mirror image of all that he'd hoped to accomplish during the war, and some part of him wondered if he was to blame for all of this. If it was his fault Inara could be dead or dying in some dark place where Hell had surfaced.

He should've told her...

_"Mal..."_

He should've said something.

"Mal!" Zoe climbed down into the pit and took Mal by the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

_No..._

"Yeah," Mal said. His eyes stared into the empty shuttle. "This... very much complicates things..."

"We'll find her, sir."

"In a city like this?"

"It's not so big of a city if you know where to look. Inara wouldn't have just gone anywhere."

"No, she..." Mal was dumbstruck. "Inara only comes to Perseus for one reason, when she's not..." He shook his head and climbed out of the pit. Jayne and Zoe followed. "She took Kaylee there during that layover after the Jacobs heist."

"Layover?" Jayne laughed. "Hangover, more like."

"That was implied, Jayne," Mal snapped. "Inara went to the undercity, and I know where the entrance is."

–

Monty was still ascending the staircase; Inara could hear the man's steps echoing down from above. They were steady, and at every other floor they would stop, presumably when he took a break. Inara kept pace, though she was drenched in sweat. She was exhausted and her injuries were complaining in the worst ways, but she continued climbing.

She reached the top of the seventh floor and stopped when Monty's footfalls cut out. As much as she wanted to take in deep breaths, she was afraid Monty would hear her; they couldn't have been more than a couple levels apart.

Inara leaned up against the cold concrete and breathed through her nose. She could taste fresh air now. They were only a few stories below the surface, but she might as well have been at the center of the planet. Even the mere thought of taking one more step was nearly unbearable.

"Wait!" Monty's voice echoed down the staircase.

Inara stood absolutely still and held her breath, wondering if he'd noticed her. But another voice joined Monty's.

He was talking to someone.

"It wasn't supposed to go this way... I had no idea..."

"Go ahead and say they kept you out of the loop on all this. Lie to me, give me a reason. I've got exactly zero patience right now..."

"Talk to him! He'll tell you!"

"Dammit, Monty!"

"He'll tell you..."

Inara inched her way up the next few steps.

"I never wanted this, Mal. Please know that..."

"Mal!"

Inara screamed at the gunshot.

–

Mal, Jayne, Zoe and Simon were barely two stories underground when another man came sprinting up from the lower levels. The man stood there, his expression vacant at the sight of Mal.

"Monty?" Mal asked. "The hell're you doing...?" Then he remembered. "Oh." He lashed out, throwing his fist into his old friend's face, sending the man stumbling backward toward the railing.

"Wait!" Monty screamed, holding out his empty hands. "Wait, Mal... I can explain."

"Can you?" Mal drew his autorevolver, pulled back the hammer and took aim. "Can you do that in the short amount of time you have left on this world?"

Monty took a few calming breaths, but kept his hands up. "Only fate would place you here in front of me," he wheezed. "Fate has a terrible sense of humor."

"You best start talking sense, Ross, 'cause I'm thinkin' about shooting you on general principle right now."

"When he came to the rest of us with this plan, the only real argument any of us had was: Is this something Mal would do? It almost became a running joke after a while. _What would Mal do?_ It stopped being funny after Persephone started burning."

"So the Independents really are behind this?" Zoe asked, disbelieving. "This isn't what we fought for, Monty. You know that. Look at what you've done!"

"I've seen it!" Monty roared. "More days spent living while everyone died around me. This is exactly what we fought to stop, and now we've done it. Brought it back around again." He rubbed at his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to go this way... I had no idea..."

Mal shrugged. "Go ahead and say they kept you out of the loop on all this," he said. "Lie to me, give me a reason. I've got exactly zero patience right now..."

"Talk to him!" Monty pleaded. "He'll tell you!"

"Dammit, Monty!"

"He'll tell you everything." Monty tossed a handheld radio into Mal's hand. "You more than anyone else."

Mal looked down at the radio.

"I never wanted this, Mal," Monty said. "Please know that..."

"Mal!" Zoe shouted.

Mal looked back up just in time to see a gun go off in Monty's mouth. The man's body slumped over and tumbled down the stairs.

Jayne snorted. "Didn't see that comin'."

Mal stared at the body until his memory caught up with him. He had heard a woman's scream just after the gun went off. "Who's down there?" he called down the stairs.

"Mal?" a familiar voice called back.

"Inara!" Mal rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over Monty's body when he reached the next level. Around one more corner, he saw her at the bottom of the steps, paled and propping herself up off the ground and doing a poor job of it. "Doc, get down here!"

"Coming!" Simon replied, his footsteps getting more frantic.

Mal eased Inara back against the wall so she could sit up. Her eyes kept closing. "Stay with me," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she whispered. "Just..." She thought for a moment. "..._stressed_."

Simon tripped coming off the last step, but caught himself and fell in at Inara's side. As he shone a penlight at Inara's pupils, he said, "Good to have you back, Inara."

"Good to... be back..." Inara winced. "Oh, God, we still have more stairs to climb."

"Don't you worry about that," Mal insisted. "We'll find someone to carry you." He smiled, despite himself.

"No, I wouldn't want you to..." She rolled her eyes. "Who am I kidding?"

Simon examined the bandage across Inara's chest. "Have you been treated already?"

"Broken ribs," Inara answered. "Other things I can't really remember right now. Probably on account of the concussion."

Simon snickered. "That, ah... That would definitely do it."

"Can she be moved, Doctor?" Mal asked.

"Yes, but..." He waited for Mal to finish his sentence.

"Step lightly, yeah," Mal finished with a nod. "Then, up you go, miss—"

_"Monty, are you on the surface, yet?"_ The radio Monty had left behind crackled to life. _"Monty, come in."_

Mal looked at the radio, unsure of what to do, but ended up pressing in the transmit button, despite how much he just wanted to smash the thing. "Monty Ross is unavailable right now. And forever."

There was silence on the channel for a few seconds. _"Who is this?"_

"Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds to anyone claiming they're flying my colors."

Another pause. _"Mal?"_ the voice asked. _"Is that really you?"_

"Don't much feel like proving it right now."

_"No, that's definitely you, all right... It's been a while, hasn't it?"_

"Have we met?"

_"We have, Mal. We really have."_

The voice did seem familiar to Mal, but he couldn't place it. "Who is this?"

A laugh came through the radio. _"Oh, Reynolds. It won't take much for you to remember,"_ it said. _"I left you in Serenity Valley to die."_

Mal nearly dropped the radio.

Matt Stokes. It was Matt Stokes.


	15. The Losing Side

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Interlude – The Losing Side**

* * *

-Serenity Valley-

-宁静山谷-

-Seven Years Ago-

-七年前-

* * *

Mal navigated the hills by the light of the Independent fleet burning up in atmo, by the fires of razed outposts and the occasional crack of gunfire in the distance. He staggered through brush and thorns, over the bodies of Alliance soldiers and fellow Browncoats who had died along front lines that no longer existed. His shoulder was still bleeding, as was Matt's leg. They helped each other along as best as they could, but both of them were weary, and Matt was fading fast.

Mal had known better days.

"How're you... holding up... Mal?" Matt asked, his head drooping.

Mal grinned and coughed. "This is some great exercise we're gettin'."

"Yeah." Matt laughed a bit. "Suppose lifting your legs up more often to step over the bodies is better for the ticker."

Mal said nothing.

"How'd this happen, Mal?" Matt asked, leaning on Mal's good shoulder more heavily. "How'd we let this happen? We were the good guys, right?"

"We _are_ the good guys, Matt. Don't even ponder otherwise."

"Good guys don't lose."

"Beaten up, sore, and maybe a little gunshot, but we haven't lost."

"That's what I like about you, Mal," said Matt, "you can act the optimist even when you're bleeding out."

"Funny. Told the recruiter something similar."

Matt laughed, but it strained him enough that he eased himself onto the ground. He coughed a few times into the dust and gasped. "I'm fairly certain escaping captivity was a good idea... but it doesn't feel so good right now."

Mal tore off a piece of his shirt and changed the makeshift dressing on his shoulder. The bleeding seemed to be stopping and the bullet had torn right through. Small miracles. "We can't be too far from the next Independent base. We'll find us a shuttle of some kind soon."

"Optimist."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Where'd your necklace go?" Matt asked without looking up from the ground.

Mal touched the spot on his neck from where the cross used to hang. "Gave it back," he said.

Matt shook his head. "Shame, that."

"All things considered, I think we'll be better off. Wouldn't you say?"

"Will we be better off following a man who's lost his faith? That's a damn good question, Mal." Matt looked up at the night sky for a brief moment, but didn't seem to like what he saw. "Belief can carry us through all kinds of trials. It's a shame to see you lose yours when it matters most."

"Yeah, well..." Mal finished tying off the dressing on his shoulder. He heard Matt's words, but he couldn't feel much beyond overwhelming indifference. "Believing in the same god that lets you lose your battles time and time again? That's the definition of insanity right there, my friend."

"I didn't say 'god,' Mal. I said belief."

"Anyway," Mal said, uninterested in Matt's topic. "Did you have much of a plan here beyond blowing up a squad of Feds? Where the hell're we headed?"

Matt snorted. "I thought I was following you!"

Mal's eyes tracked a fire in the distance. "Your first mistake."

"Jesus, Mal—"

"Wait..." Mal could hear something on the wind, growing louder. "Get down!"

"I'm already down!"

Mal kicked Matt onto his back—a little harder than he'd intended. "Not down enough." He dropped down onto his stomach, moving close to a dead shrub. He could see the lights approaching.

A small Alliance scout vessel crept in from over the next hill, the only lights to give it away were mounted on the guns of the soldiers that poked out from either side. The lights swept in a tracking motion, back and forth, as the scout hovered low across the fields following no particular path.

A shot rang out.

Another.

The light passed close to Mal, but settled on the body of a dead Independent a few yards away. Another shot and a wound opened up on the body's chest. The gunner shook his head at the pilot and the scout hovered in a different direction, out of sight over the next hill. Mal could still hear the gunshots.

"Bastards," Matt hissed, trying push himself up onto his feet in a hurry.

"Easy," Mal said, beating him to it. "I know it's a little odd to have to remind you that you've been shot, but... there you have it."

"I'm fine."

"You say that now."

"I said I'm fine!" Matt's shouting rang in Mal's ears. "I just want to get off this 盲点 of a planet, I want to sleep off one more night in my own bed, and I want to spend the rest of my life shooting any Fed that dares draw breath in my presence."

"Okay." Mal continued nodding his head, hoping his friend would calm down. "If that's what you wanna do, I got no call to convince you otherwise. But right now, we gotta keep movin'."

Matt suddenly started laughing. He hunched over, wiping the sweat on his face away with his hands. "Mal, we... man, we can't even keep our _dead_ from being shot!"

"Matt..."

"What happened, Mal? Why'd this happen?"

Another gunshot in the distance.

"You've asked me that a few times now. Not sure I can give you the answer you're lookin' for."

"What was wrong with what we wanted, huh? What'd these boys and girls do to deserve this? We just wanted to go our own way!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Mal cradled his shoulder wound.

"We need to stop them, Mal. We can't let them get away with this."

Mal could see where Matt's thoughts were leading him, and Mal didn't care for what he saw. "Matt, we're still kickin'. We should probably keep it that way for a spell."

"_You're_ the one who said we haven't lost yet. Let's make sure _they_ know that!"

"Matt, stop this."

"Stop _what_!" Matt's voice cracked over the dead battlefield. He took a few labored steps toward Mal. "Stop _what_, Mal? Stop fighting? Stop yelling?"

"Stop acting the fool. Serenity's still burning."

"And they'll pay for every body on this field, Reynolds. Tenfold."

"You've gotta stop talkin' nonsense so we can find us a shuttle without bringing the entire Fed army down on us."

Matt drew a weapon. "It's not nonsense."

Mal looked down at the gun. Alliance, standard issue pistol. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"The Fed wasn't using it."

"All right," Mal said with a nod, his eyes unblinking, mad. "Next question. Just what the hell do you think you're gonna do with it?"

"Bring justice to the ultimate injustice."

"You say that on a lost battlefield, gunshot, bodies around your feet. We haven't even buried our dead yet, Stokes."

"Come with me," Matt said, his eyes pleading.

"What?" Mal asked. "Where?"

"Just like I said," Matt explained. "We get off this rock, we spend one more night at home, and we take the fight past the neutral zone."

"The gorram neutral zone?" Mal shook his head, incredulous. "We took a convoy a quarter-light year near the line and lost all six ships. The hell do you think you're gonna do with a limp and a pistol?"

Matt's gaze went steady. "I'll do _better_." He nodded. "We were the ones playing to win, not command, not our superiors. They wanted to fly the colors and give speeches while we died on worlds we'd never heard of. They're the ones who surrendered. We can do better."

Mal sighed. He knew it: he was going to get himself shot here in a few seconds.

He had befriended Matt all those years ago because he was a rock, because he could be trusted to be Matt when all the world was lost. Now he looked into his friend's firelit eyes and saw nothing sturdy about him. Nothing sane.

Matt was going to pull that trigger.

"Do what you like," Mal said, grinning despite the predicament. "Go your own way."

Matt didn't react very agreeable to the Browncoat mantra being turned around on him. His face went taut. His finger tightened around the trigger. "Yeah?"

Mal laughed. "Yeah."

He kicked out and swept Matt's injured leg out from under him. The man roared in agony and collapsed into the dust, firing a shot into the air as his body tensed.

Mal ran, burning what little energy he had left in him, but he didn't get far. A bullet tore into him. Then another. He tumbled down into the brush, feeling nothing but pain.

Lying there, dust settling, Mal discovered he was still smiling. There was something infinitely ironic about surviving a war just to be killed by your own friend at the end. That, and he'd been given very few reasons to laugh lately.

_ I'll take it where I can get it._

His eyes flicked to the sky, and he watched another starship burn through atmo, lighting up Serenity Valley in a brilliant shade of green. The air trembled with its descent, and its impact shook the earth. He felt the tremor beneath him and his smile vanished.

_"You can't... take the sky from me..."_ he weakly sang to the fires above.

But the night was gone into a deeper darkness, as Matt stood over him—the gun in his hand aimed at Mal's head.


	16. Go It Alone

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Eleven – Go It Alone**

* * *

"He missed, of course," Mal said, taking a sip from his teacup. The tea inside had since gone cold. "Still hurt my feelings, though."

The crew of _Serenity_ sat in silence, gathered around the end of the dining room table across from Mal. Jayne had a smile on his face that hadn't left since the part of the story where Mal got shot in the back twice. Simon had his arm wrapped around Kaylee's shoulders, who, in turn, had nuzzled her head against his chest. Zoe and Isaiah were upright and attentive.

River was fast asleep; this was her first time out of the cockpit in over a day and had said, plainly enough, "I've heard this one before."

Mal finished off his tea and carefully placed it on the table. "So." He clapped his hands together. "That's who Matt Stokes is to me."

Zoe leaned forward, looking unusually distressed. "When you found our camp, you told me an Alliance soldier shot you in the back when you escaped."

"I know," he said. "I lied, which is something I swore I'd never do." When everyone at the table seemed ready to protest, he added, "On the _battlefield_. Sheesh."

"But why lie about something like that?"

"I think you would agree, that was a very long night. If news like that kept comin' in, the sun might never have come up."

"The man shot you, Mal."

"Folks tend to do that. I don't hold it against 'em."

"Mal..."

"The man was my friend," Mal said plainly. "Yes, he shot me, and you best believe I wasn't all that happy about it neither. But you saw what that war did to the best of us."

Zoe nodded, looked away.

"Seen a stray mortar flip a new recruit inside a minute. It took a dozen lost battlefields and a lost cause for Matt Stokes to follow suit. I don't blame him for that. Not at all." Mal fiddled with his teacup. "If he'd asked me to join his imaginary cause a few minutes later, I actually might've had something a bit more positive to say in return..."

"You don't mean that," Kaylee mewed.

"I surely do." Mal clapped his hands on the table and sat up. "But that was then, and it certainly ain't now." He checked his autorevolver.

Simon raised a hand. "I thought you said you don't blame him for what he did."

Mal shrugged. "I don't. Not in the least." He put the gun back in his holster. "Still gonna kill him."

Jayne snorted and lifted his dirty boots onto the table. "And I want a labradoodle that barks folk music and farts money, but that ain't gonna happen."

Everyone around the table did a double take in Jayne's direction.

Jayne felt the eyes on him. "I said it _ain't_ gonna happen."

"Jayne's right... I think," Simon said. "We have Inara, which was the absolute best case scenario for coming back here. If we leave now without getting shot out of the sky, this will probably be the most successful job we've ever taken on."

"Listen to the doctor," Jayne said, pointing at Simon. "We didn't even have to shoot no one to get her back. Bastard shot himself. How often does that happen?"

"Not often enough," Kaylee said.

"Hey," Mal barked, silencing the room. "Y'all are talkin' like you got a say in this. I am going up there, and I am gonna plant a bullet in his skull for what he's done here."

"And yer talkin' like you got a chance in Hell of pullin' that off," Jayne snapped. "Ain't no sneakin' gonna be done. If they don't shoot us out of the gorram sky goin' up there, they're sure as 拉屎 gonna get us comin' back down. People don't like it when you shoot their commander."

"Not overmuch," Zoe chimed in.

Isaiah stepped forward. "What is your plan, Captain?" he asked.

Of course, the Operative had to be the only one to take interest in what Mal was saying. Mal resisted the urge to scowl at the man and said plainly, "I'm gonna ask Matt real nicely if I can come aboard."

"Just... _ask_?" Zoe said.

"Yeah," Mal replied. "Nicely."

"And you really think he'll go for that?"

"I happen to think he might."

"What gives you that idea?"

"The fact that he has himself an entire fleet of Browncoats up there, most of whom I'm likely on a first name basis with. I'm bettin' turning me away might cause a stir."

"Okay," Zoe said. "What _else_ gives you that idea?"

"It's just the way the man talked to me over the radio. He didn't sound angry or nothin'. In fact, he sounded downright pleasant."

"Even about leaving you to die on Hera."

"That part does concern me, but I guess I'll find out when I get up there." Mal held up a hand. "When _I_ get up there. You guys are making an awful fuss about something you ain't gotta be a part of."

The crew exchanged confused glances.

"Now, what do you mean by that?" Kaylee asked.

"I contact Matt and take the shuttle to meet him," Mal said. "I shoot him at some point, get back on the shuttle and meet up with y'all in safety."

"You talk like it'll get that far," Zoe said, anger in her voice. "Like he won't just shoot you out of the sky."

"Well, there aren't varying degrees of success on this. One of us is gettin' shot today."

"This is stupid, sir!" Zoe spat, slamming her fists on the table. "You're getting yourself killed for nothing."

"It ain't for nothin'!" Mal snapped. He and Zoe stared at each other in bewilderment. It had been a very long time since the two of them had clashed over anything. It was uncomfortable feeling, and likely a mutual one. He pointed toward the engine room. "If we're gonna have words over this, let's have them in private."

Zoe stood without a word and marched away toward the engine room, Mal followed. When they were inside, Mal sealed the door.

"You got something to say?" Mal asked.

"Yes, sir," Zoe said.

"Let's have it. Let's have it all."

"Very well." Zoe crossed her arms. "I've already told you I think this is a stupid plan."

"You did."

"I also think you might be getting yourself killed for no damn reason."

"And I disagree with you on that."

"Why? Matt Stokes has a fleet that just leveled most of a planet. You, on the other hand, have a second-hand shuttle and a death wish."

"You think I want to die?"

"If you're serious about this plan, I don't reckon you're all that thrilled about living."

Mal said, "You've seen what he's done to this world. It's been undone."

"I've seen what he's done, goddammit."

"And you see that he's done this in _our_ name?" Mal's buried rage set itself loose. "The colors we fought and died beneath, he's flyin' over a world of dead civilians. That's _our_ cause, that's _our_ blood. He's twisted and mangled our dream, turned it into a nightmare. We didn't go to Serenity for this."

"Mal..."

"I don't have a death wish, and I didn't have one back on Hera neither. I'm just finishing what I started." Mal calmed himself down considerably. "And if I happen to die up there, that's just the risk I've always been willin' to take. Same as you. Same as all the friends we buried in that gorram valley."

Zoe's stance relaxed a bit, but she still didn't seem even remotely close to agreeing. "Killing Matt Stokes won't change anything."

"We've killed a lot of people, Zoe," Mal said. "Nothing ever changes."

–

Inara's mind was still swimming under the influence of the delightful painkillers Simon had injected into her system. She awoke every now and then, feeling the memory of pain in her form, but not much more. There was no discomfort; she was just there, in spirit if not in body.

She fell asleep again, but there were only terrors there to greet her. The thunderous roar of a building collapsing somewhere in the dark, growing louder and louder until it was all she could hear. Then the ear-piercing sound of the elevator cable snapping.

Her eyes fluttered open, returning her to the safety of _Serenity_'s infirmary, the silence of it. She craned her head around, taking in the relaxing sterility of the place when she noticed someone standing next to her bed. As hard as she tried, her eyes wouldn't focus, so she had to call out, "Who's there?"

A distorted moment passed before the figure said, "No one."

It was Mal.

"Are you watching me sleep?" she asked.

"It's not as exciting as it sounds." His hand fell upon Inara's shoulder. "How're you feelin'?"

Inara's vision swam. "Drugged," she groaned. "Tired, but it feels like I've slept for ages."

"Get as much sleep as you can manage. Doctor said you should be able to walk around just as soon as the drugs wear off."

"Can't wait." She tried to smile, but she couldn't tell if she'd succeeded. "Thank you, Mal."

"For the drugs? That wasn't—"

"For finding me."

"Oh." Mal's smile appeared through the haze. "It was a group effort, but I'll gladly take full credit for it."

"Striking out blind, looking for one woman on a ruined world?" She reached up and took Mal's hand in hers. "A plan like that? I don't know. That sounds like your kind of crazy."

Mal gripped her hand. "Collaborative insanity," he said with a laugh. "It took all kinds of crazy to find you."

Inara could feel her body relaxing against her will. "I'm in good company..." she moaned.

"Couldn't agree with you more," Mal said. "Go back to sleep."

Inara held on to Mal's hand. She could feel herself falling back into a dream. "Are you going to be here when I wake up?"

She couldn't tell if he'd answered or not.

–

Mal sifted through his quarters and decided the only things he would need on Matt's ship would be his autorevolver and the brown duster he'd worn faithfully during the war. He pulled on the coat, noticing that it felt heavier than usual, and checked the ammo and power pack in his weapon. Everything seemed in order. He holstered the revolver and took one more look around his room.

He wasn't sure why.

Climbing the ladder out of his quarters, he noticed that the ship felt oddly quiet. There were no switches being clicked on and off in the cockpit, so River wasn't around. There were no footfalls on the catwalks or idle chatter from the dining room. The ship felt emptied.

Mal put it all out of his mind and made his way toward the remaining shuttle, wondering how he was going to replaced the destroyed one. _If_ he was ever able to. Finding a firefly in working order was difficult enough these days, let alone shuttles that actually functioned. _Serenity_ had been the best possible find on all the worlds turning. He couldn't believe how lucky he had been.

If that kind of luck was a once in a lifetime thing—so it seemed in Mal's case—he was fine with that. Everyday _Serenity_ took to the skies with the crew that she had was a gift. That much, more than anything else, Mal knew for certain.

Mal turned the corner and began crossing the catwalk to the port shuttle, when he noticed the barricade; his crew was there to meet him, blocking the only entrance.

"Hi..." Mal waited for something to be said, nothing was. "There a problem?"

Jayne crossed his arms. "Damn right."

Mal's gaze narrowed. "Okay..."

Kaylee said, "You ain't goin' up there alone."

Mal eyed her, confused. "I'd, ah... argue to the contrary."

Jayne shrugged. "I mean, if he wants to go alone..."

"Shut up, Jayne," Zoe snapped, and then said to Mal, "We're going with you."

"That's fine of you to offer," Mal said, "but I would not recommend it."

Kaylee replied, "We know what this means to you, Cap'n. What it _could_ mean. And well..." She looked around at the rest of the crew. "We ain't gonna let you face that by your lonesome."

"I would!" Jayne barked.

"Jayne would, but he's comin' anyhow."

Mal felt the urge to grin, but held back. "I don't know what'll happen once I get up there. We might not even make it to the gorram docking bay. Things could fall back to earth real damn quick, and I'd rather not put any of you at risk in that manner."

Simon hesitantly spoke up. "We've faced down reavers, the Alliance, slavers, a crime lord; defended a brothel, stolen priceless goods from folks on all sides of the 'Verse who would like nothing more than to see us dead..." He snorted. "This is nothing!" Proud of himself, he looked around the group for approval. "Right...? Isn't this nothing?"

No one responded.

Kaylee patted his back, more out of pity than anything else. "Well put."

"What about Isaiah?" Mal asked, nodding to the Operative. "He ain't a part of this."

Isaiah clasped his hands in front of him and stepped forward. "A fact that your crew has already made clear. I've already been offered the shuttle as a means to escape: an offer that I've already refused." He bowed. "I had acquaintances here on Persephone whose safety is now in question. This is my fight, as well, and I would be privileged to escort you and your crew to the fleet."

Jayne spat something over the catwalk. "Basically, we think that means he's stickin' around."

The crew stood fast, hardly fidgeting as they blocked Mal's path. Mal didn't have it in him to argue any further. Though it was difficult to admit, having everyone with him would very much put him at ease.

"All right, then." Mal scratched the back of his neck. "If y'all are comin' with me, I guess we'd better get moving sooner rather than later." He looked around, trading glances with each member of his crew. "Last chance, no second-guesses. Are y'all sure about this?"

River said, "Ball of yarn... Pull one string and you pull them all." She snapped out of her momentary trance and her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. "Yeah, we're sure..."


	17. Holding a Bullet

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Twelve – Holding a Bullet**

* * *

"_Listen up!"_ Two men wearing tattered dusters marched their way through the saloon, banging their tin drinking cups together to steal everyone's attention. It was definitely working. "Listen up, listen up!"

Mal was intent on ignoring them, but when Matt looked up from their game of liar's dice, he decided he had no real choice in the matter. "You're really gonna leave me hangin' here?" Mal asked.

Matt pointed to the men. "You're not hearing that racket?"

"I've been hearin' that racket for nearly a year now."

"They look serious."

"They're always serious."

"They're banging stuff together this time."

Mal sighed, took another look at his dice. "I guess that must mean they're really serious, huh?" He clapped Matt on the arm. "C'mon! Five sixes."

Matt was still entranced. "No, I think they're really..." He caught up with what Mal had just said. "Did you say five sixes?"

Mal shrugged. "What of it?"

"Really? That's what you're gonna play?"

"I live on the edge."

Matt snorted. "I call."

They lifted up their cups. There wasn't a single six on the table.

"You're a terrible liar," Matt sighed.

"I know." Mal took up his glass of beer. "I guess that means I have to drink."

_"Listen up! Listen up! Listen up!"_ The saloon was growing quieter as more people turned away from their drinks. A few were shouting at the men to be quiet, among other things.

"Shut the hell up!" Mal shouted. "删除你的声音，混蛋!"

"Easy, Mal," Matt said.

"I'm tired of these bastards comin' in here, talkin' in maybes and just mights. If they're really pissed off—and I mean _really_ pissed off—they'd do something about it. Flappin' their jaws won't do anything but kill my buzz."

"Listen up, please!" One of the men climbed up on top of the bar. "I got me a letter from Admiral Jackson Whitlock just come down the cortex!"

_"Read it!"_ Several of the patrons beckoned.

_"Read it! C'mon, boy!"_

Mal's head was beginning to throb against all the noise in the tiny saloon. "Whitlock. There's _another_ fella who talks way too damn much."

"You're gonna get yourself thrown out of here, Mal," Matt groaned. "_Again._"

"They'll forgive me."

"For as long as they can still stand you."

"Are we gonna roll again, or let the rabble win out?"

"I'm listening to the rabble, Mal. Be patient for one gorram second."

Mal groaned and eased his aching head onto his arm.

"The letter reads, and I quote," the man on the bar began, pulling out a datapad from his coat. "My dearest neighbors, on and beyond this world: there was a time once, long ago, starbound, when our civilization dreamed of the best of all possible worlds. From an unknown corner of the 'Verse, we sought out a new beginning for the children of Earth-that-was.

"Much to our surprise, we found not one world, but many. Our new civilization began with the promise of making a better world—_all_ of them, better worlds. That promise was held close to our hearts as our feet first met the earth of the Core Worlds, and upon them we've seen the wonders a united humanity can accomplish.

"But as our influence spread, as more and more migrated to the Border Worlds, that promise was seemingly lost somewhere in the space between..."

Mal was getting interested. He rolled his head over so that he could watch the man on the bar speak.

"The Alliance that was forged between civilized men and women has not been honored for all, in a place where entire planets and moons have been starved and plagued into silence. On those dead worlds, all that remains now among the graves is the promise of a better world—but the promise alone. An allegiance has been forced upon us by the Core, one that has not been respected or treated with even the barest gesture of civility..."

"You don't think...?" Matt turned to Mal, sweat glossing his forehead. "You don't think he finally did it, do you?"

Mal sat up straight and shook his head. "I do not know."

The man on the bar took a deep breath. The saloon was dead silent now. "And so, it is with a heavy heart and an eye toward progress, that I, Admiral Jackson Whitlock, pass the order that all interstellar traffic between the Tekla-Atlin Divide be severed—and the representatives of this, the newly formed Independent Confederation of Planets, hereby declare war on the Universal Alliance!"

The saloon erupted with roaring applause; patrons of all ages leaped from their seats, dancing, waving, embracing. A few fired off rounds into the ceiling. The bartender only added fuel to the fire when he stood on his stool and cried out, "Free drinks on the house!"

Glasses were raised, the liquor was set out on the bar, and the resulting cheers nearly deafened Mal. His headache mutated into a migraine and then into something he was sure only a bullet could cure. He pushed his beer aside.

Matt said something, but not loud enough.

"What!" Mal called back.

Matt rolled his eyes and pointed toward the saloon doors. He wanted a discreet exit. Mal was more than happy to oblige. The two edged their way around swinging mugs and clumsy, spontaneous dancing, and stumbled out the door. The night was still retaining the warmth of the previous day, and the stars over Shadow were as bright as ever.

Lights throughout the town were flicking on in a staggered wave as messengers rode through the streets, delivering the promise of war. It was a sobering sight. Matt casually rolled up a cigarette, licked it sealed.

"Ain't that something?" he asked, bringing a match up to light the cigarette.

Mal nodded, trying to force rational thoughts back into his drunken mind. "Definitely something."

Another set of lights flicked on in the town below. More cheers followed, celebratory gunfire. The whole planet was coming to life in the dead of night.

"What do you think?" Matt asked, exhaling smoke through his nose.

Mal knew what he meant; they'd discussed the conflict-in-name-only so many times it had almost become boring. Now the war was really on. The Border Worlds would be inviting even more instability, and they'd be fighting a well-armed enemy. They would need _a lot_ of recruits.

"Sounds like we'll have quite the fight on our hands," Mal said.

"You speak the truth."

"And we've had words concerning just what I think'll happen if we face down the Alliance."

"We'll have to shoot a lot of people."

Mal clasped his hands together. "Not sure if I'd be up for that."

"Shooting at people? You've done that before, no problem."

"You're right and you're wrong. I've shot at people, scared trespassers off the ranch. Never had a mind to kill anyone for stealing product."

Matt took another drag off his cigarette. "So am I going it alone?"

"I know you've already made your choice," Mal said, recalling their past conversations. "Don't have to tell me twice."

"And you never gave me an answer."

"No reason to make up my mind in a hurry."

"And now?" Matt asked. "Look, we're not going to get another chance at this. If we don't reclaim what we're owed—hell, even just what we need to _survive—_Shadow, and other worlds like it, are done. Plain and simple."

"This I know."

"And you still don't have an answer?"

Mal didn't like to be pressed, but he didn't think the answer to Matt's question would come around any easier with time. He sighed. "You know things'll be bad."

"It's war."

"Yes it is."

"Things will get worse before they get better."

Mal said, "Might never get better."

"That's the chance we'll have to take if we want even one better world." Matt tossed away his cigarette and held out his hand. "What do you say, Mal?"

Mal looked down at Matt's hand, then to the town below. People laughed and danced in the streets. For all he knew, this would be the last time he'd ever look upon his home and find such innocence. A war with the Alliance meant no one would be safe; even if this Independent Confederacy he was now a part of won out in the end. Change wouldn't come easy.

But then again, what did?

Mal took a deep breath of the nightly air. "Well, damn..."

–

_Serenity_ rose up from the dead world, her nose aimed at one of the Browncoat ships near the center of the fleet. River rocked the firefly back and forth to signal their intent to land. The weapons mounted on the battleship's underbelly swiveled around and tracked _Serenity_ as she approached, but did nothing more as she came to rest in the main docking bay. As soon as River shut down the the thrusters, a platoon of armed guards approached the cargo bay ramp and a laser turret took aim at the firefly's cockpit.

"About the greeting I expected," Mal said. He tousled River's hair and left for the cargo bay. "Keep 'em safe, Albatross."

"Will do!" River called back, absolutely unafraid.

The rest of Mal's crew was waiting for him near the ramp. He waved them off.

"I need y'all to stay here with the ship," he said. "They're not lookin' too diplomatic out there."

"Like hell we're staying," Zoe said, gripping her repeater.

"That's an order," Mal said firmly. "This can't go wrong, you hear? Stay here with the ship. If things go south, get out of here. I'll find another way to you."

"How're we supposed to know if things go south?"

Mal pointed upwards, towards the cockpit.

Zoe conceded the point. "Right. Psychic."

"Everything'll be all right, Washburne," he said and hit the button to lower the cargo bay ramp. He turned to the rest of his crew. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Jayne cradled Vera in his arms. "You mean like shootin' people who come to close to the ramp?"

"Everything except that."

Mal descended the ramp to peacefully hand himself over to the guards. "Fellas, I'm here to see Matt Stokes. He's expectin' me."

The guards, Browncoats all, unconsciously lowered their weapons, their faces blank.

"S-Sergeant Reynolds?" the lead guard asked.

Mal kept his hands up. "Yeah, that'd be me."

The lead guard turned to the rest of her group. "Stand down!" They already had. "Sergeant Reynolds, it's an honor to meet you again." She offered her hand.

Mal politely shook it. "We've met before?"

"Yes, sir... Well, not directly, sir," she said. "I was with the Twenty-Second Acacias at Du-Khang. We were about to lose the school district when you and the rest of the Fifty-Seventh fell in and helped us evacuate."

"Oh..."

"You saved a lot of lives that day, sir."

"We all did what we could. Those weren't exactly the best of times."

"I knew Tracey Smith. Sorry to hear about his passing."

"Thank you, but it was, ah... a very long time comin'." He looked down. The guard hadn't stopped shaking his hand. "Yeah, well, I better get to my meeting with Stokes."

She finally released his hand. "Of course! Right this way, sir."

Mal thought of correcting the guard on her usage of that honorific, but decided against it, remembering his situation. In fact, he tried to remain as quiet as possible while his escort led him through the corridors of the battleship. At every station, the crewers would put their tasks on hold to cast awed glances in Mal's direction. Many stood and saluted, announcing, "Officer on the deck!"

Mal wasn't sure if he should return the gesture, but he still found himself doing so reflexively. The atmosphere this ship and its crew managed to conjure up was a familiar one. For a few passing moments, he felt very much at home.

The lead guard led him through so many corridors, he nearly lost track of the path back to _Serenity_, which would have been most unfortunate. But one of the corridors finally opened up into a wide, circular control room, half-enclosed by massive viewports that provided an unsettling view of the ruined planet below.

"There he is." A figure passed before the view. "You really showed up, eh?"

Mal nodded. The bridge officers were trying their hardest to stay distracted by their consoles, but one of them would look up at him occasionally. It felt odd being the center of attention. "You've got a lot of familiar faces around here."

The figure walked towards Mal, casually. "Familiar? Yes, Mal. Out of the trenches and into the dark—all of us. We've been there for quite a while, but now it's time to finish our fight with the Alliance." Matt clapped Mal on the shoulder. "We've put it off long enough, wouldn't you say?"

Mal said nothing. His rage strangled him.

"Come, look at this," Matt said, leading Mal over to the viewport. "I have to say, I never thought I'd see you again. Not that I blame you. We certainly didn't part under amicable circumstances."

"Shootin' a man in the back ain't amicable?"

Matt grinned. "There are only a couple of things I regret in this life, Mal. The first was believing General Whitlock had a spine, and the second was shooting you when I had no call to. I don't expect you to forgive me."

"Already have."

"Huh. That surprises me."

"The war did a lot of things to a lot of folks. I know what it did to you."

Matt seemed distracted. "Life can be funny sometimes."

Mal looked around the bridge. "So, you don't have General Whitlock up here with you? I thought for sure..."

"Whitlock had no place among us." Firelight from the surface of the planet caught his eye. "Reinforcements were less than an hour away from Hera, Mal. They were_ right there_, and he surrendered when his ship started taking fire."

"We all knew he was a man who liked to hear himself talk a little too much."

"We let him talk all he wanted on the way to the airlock," Matt said. "He lit up the sky over Serenity one more time. You would've been proud."

"Seems you've been doing a lot of the talkin' for me lately." Mal relaxed his arms. "You wanna tell me what that's all about?"

"Were you the one who killed Monty, Mal?"

"He was distressed enough to do that himself. I'd safely bet there are a lot more like him who don't much care for what you've done here."

"And they'll be let out at the next stop. Alive," Matt said firmly. "There is no end to this. Monty did nothing but cut his own life short."

Mal turned away from the viewport. "Next stop?"

"You've heard of the attacks on other Core Worlds, have you not?"

Mal nodded.

"Good. Surely everyone else has, as well. The citizens of Persephone—Parliament included—will flee along the lines we've determined. And just when they've settled down, we'll find them. Again and again, we'll find them, until they have nowhere left to run but the Border, where a coup d'etat is already underway—while the Alliance scrambles to stop us here."

Matt shrugged. "They've already lost. They just don't know it yet."

"You'd kill more innocents? Even after all this?"

For the first time during their conversation, Matt's face went red with anger. "There are no innocents in war, Mal. If you fly the colors of conflict, you burn with it. You cannot support war and expect peace at the same time. You should know this better than anyone."

Mal's hand drifted towards his autorevolver. "I believe I do."

"These are the days of retribution. The Alliance left Shadow a floating ember in the dark of space, and we will leave one of their worlds in such a way."

"Is that what we fought for? Murder, revenge?" Mal asked. "Is that what all our friends died believing in?"

"It's what we fight for now. It's what we believe..." Matt saw Mal's hand hovering over his autorevolver. He grinned. "Are you here to kill me, Mal?"

"You think I can forgive you for this?" Mal gestured to the ruins. "You think I'm gonna let you fly our flag over this world?"

"You should be proud that I am. This is what we wanted!"

"I never wanted this!"

"What did you think would happen, huh? What if, by the grace of the God you used to believe in, we actually won that valley? You know the Feds never played fair. They built their bases flush against residential districts, school districts, shelters. Whitlock would've burned this place to the ground. Tell me he wouldn't have!"

Mal touched the grip of his gun.

Matt began laughing hysterically. "You _know_ this! And you would've been right here beside me watching the stars burn away. I know this because we didn't fight to survive, we fought to win. To the very last _second_ when Serenity Valley was lost to us, we fought with victory in our hearts—and that makes us mighty."

He chuckled again. "You know it's true. So answer me this: why are you really on this world? It was never to stop me, was it?" When he didn't receive an answer, he turned to his crew. "My friends! Malcolm Reynolds are going to settle a little score, and we're going to settle it in the way gentlemen should. I'm going to have to ask you all, no matter the outcome, to refrain from interfering. There are to be no arrests, no guns drawn, no nothing. What happens now is between us."

The bridge crew shifted in their seats. A few left the room, possibly to fetch the guards.

Matt pushed back his brown duster, revealing his old weapon tucked neatly into a leather holster. "Just answer my question, Mal—for old time's sake. This was never about stopping me, was it? Never about keeping the Core from burning." He smiled. "You found something to believe in, didn't you? Picked your faith back up off the ground?"

Mal nodded; his stare cold, his hand ready for the draw. "I have, Stokes," he said. "But they're the ones who picked me up."

The gunshots resounded throughout the ship.

Back on _Serenity_, River diverted power away from life support, back to lighting, stopped for a brief moment—and blinked.


	18. The Last, Best Memory

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Interlude – The Last, Best Memory**

* * *

-Shadow-

-阴影-

-Twelve Years Ago-

-十二年前-

* * *

Mal raised his right hand.

The recruiter pointed to the sheet of paper on the desk between them. "Please take the oath, if you so choose."

Mal hated formalities like this, and silently wished he could just say "I swear" or "I super-swear" or something, but the Confederacy was being pretty strict about the whole process. They had already gotten on Matt for taking the oath too quickly.

"I, Malcolm Reynolds, do swear that I renounce and refuse all allegiance to the Universal Alliance, and that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to the Independent Confederation of Planets as a free nation, that I will observe and obey the orders of the high command, execute them with diligence and without conflict, and provide for the common defense wherever necessary—in the name of the fallen, so help me God."

The recruiter accepted the oath and placed another paper between them. "Make your mark here, acknowledging the stipend that will be paid into your reserve until the end of the war, dependent on your rank."

Mal signed the paper.

The recruiter accepted the contract, stamped it with the Independent seal—a black star for the worlds that had gone dark—and handed Mal a scroll. "Here are your orders. The transport bound for Fort Ulysses leaves Theron Starport tomorrow at thirteen-hundred hours. Your associate over there has the weapon provided to you by the Confederation—good luck to you both."

Mal took his orders and met up with Matt on the other side of the field. "Well, that was worth standing in mud for two hours," he said. "They could've at least set up indoors."

Matt laughed. "I guess they had asked Mister Chalmers if they could set up their desk in the meeting hall, but the old man didn't want his floors messed up before the feast tonight."

"The way he's been cookin' lately, like anyone's gonna show up, anyhow." Mal shrugged. "Hey, the recruiter said you picked up my gun."

Matt nodded. "I did, indeed."

"Not very professional of him."

"I said I was your brother."

"No, that makes even more sense."

Matt held out two autorevolvers. "Which one? You choose."

Mal picked up the guns, feeling their weight, checking the chamber. "They look the same."

"They do, don't they?" Matt mused. "They won't after a time. One of these will be exactly what you make of it."

Mal grinned. "You're really ready for this, aren't you?"

"As much as I'll ever be, I think," Matt said. "I'm ready for things to change, if that's what you mean."

Mal took up one of the autorevolvers, spun it around on his finger, and took aim at the horizon. "I suppose that makes two of us, my friend."


	19. The Turn of the Worlds

**Firefly: Take the Sky**

**Chapter Thirteen — The Turn of the Worlds**

* * *

There had been nothing all that remarkable about Persephone's moon, Melinoe, until the refugees arrived. Thousands of landing starships had whipped up the moon's topsoil into a violent duststorm that now covered most of the northern hemisphere, the lone checkpoint and emergency fuel station was already tapped out and being refitted as a temporary camp for the displaced, and makeshift shelters were everywhere one did look.

River had parked _Serenity_ near the edge of one of the larger shelters upon Mal's request. The thought had been to trade for fuel and head to the nearest Border World that hadn't yet fallen into chaos. Many were evacuating the Core for fear of an invasion and coming to rest on planets they had once been at war with, which had led to some "disagreements." There seemed to be fighting nearly everywhere in the 'Verse.

_Somewhere out there, Badger is making a killing_, Mal thought to himself, never more sure of anything in his life.

He watched the billowing dust storms from _Serenity_'s loading ramp, hoping Zoe would get everything loaded and ready before they got caught in the open. The last thing he needed was a yard of dust in his air purifiers—mostly because no one would remember to change them for another year.

Jayne pulled his mom's knitted hat over his head and socked Mal on the shoulder. "You all right?"

Mal stretched his shoulder. "You hit me."

"Yeah, I did." Jayne stood there absently, as if he'd missed something. "Anyway, I was gonna go on into that mess of a shelter and see if I can trade for some ammo."

"What are you gonna trade with?"

"More ammo."

"Okay..."

"I feel like we're not on the same page here, Mal."

"And we both know you can't read too good, so that's probably a definite."

Jayne stood there sneering until Mal was compelled to say something.

"That was outta line," Mal said.

"I can read just fine."

"No one said you couldn't."

"You did."

"No one besides me."

Jayne resumed sneering, and just when Mal thought he was going to get struck on the shoulder again, the man asked, "You gonna be all right, Mal?"

"It'll probably just be a little sore..."

"No." Jayne grunted and rolled his eyes. "With shootin' yer best friend and all."

Mal shook his head. "I didn't shoot a friend."

Jayne looked confused. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mal nodded.

"Have you ever?"

"Nope."

"Would you ever?" Jayne asked.

Mal pointed toward the makeshift shelter in the distance. "If you take too long out there and hold up our launch for an hour like you did on Veletto Prime—_then_ I'll be shootin' a friend."

Jayne stood there, his face blank. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Mal decided then and there that he'd likely never figure out Jayne Cobb: whether there was too much or too little to the man, he just couldn't know. "You're... welcome?"

Jayne socked Mal on the shoulder again. "I'll be back," he said and started off toward the shelter.

The dust storm was closing in.

Mal sat down on the loading ramp, feeling like he could fall asleep. He cursed to himself. How come he never felt like falling asleep when he was in bed?

A horn sounded and Mal sat up to find Zoe riding in on the Mule, a large bundle of supplies strapped onto the back of it. She grinned at Mal as she drove the vehicle up the ramp and into the cargo bay, cutting the engines as soon as she was able.

Mal stood to greet her. "So, how'd we do?"

Frustration passed over Zoe's face, however briefly. "It took some negotiating, Captain, but I managed to come back with zero fuel."

"I think that is the opposite of the outcome we were hoping for."

Zoe snickered and tugged at the bundle she'd brought back. "No one was all too willing to trade for fuel. Folks had security posted at their gorram fuel ports. But! I _was_ able to buy a dozen cases of that Walker's Special Reserve."

"So, when we run out of gas, we can drink ourselves silly?" Before Zoe could correct him, he held up a hand to stop her. "_Or_, we can trade it to Old Hob over on Berhagen."

"Knowing a drunk that owns a fueling station—" She knocked on one of the cases of alcohol."—this stuff's just as good as fuel."

Mal couldn't resist showing how impressed he was. "That's what I like about you, Washburne: you're always thinkin'."

Zoe curtsied. "Someone has to, sir."

Mal's laughter tapered off into a content smile when he took notice of the engagement band still hanging around Zoe's neck. He pointed at it. "Glad you kept that."

Zoe reached up and touched the necklace, and she grinned warmly at the memories it seemed to conjure up. "You can't sell something you never lose, sir."

"So I've heard," Mal replied, his mind drifting toward similar memories. "I'm gonna check on Inara. We'll be airborne in a few."

Zoe nodded, still grinning. "With pleasure, sir."

Mal continued on, through the cargo bay and down the steps to the infirmary. Inside, Inara was still tucked into the medical bed with Simon checking her blood pressure and Kaylee watching from her seat on the counter, her legs excitedly kicking into the air.

"How's she doin', Doctor?" Mal asked.

"Fine," Simon and Inara said in unison.

"So it seems."

"She'll make a full recovery," Simon said happily. "I'd like to keep her here for one more night so I can keep an eye on her, but after that she'll be able to return to her room on her own."

Mal turned to Inara. "Did Kaylee take you up to see your new room in the other shuttle? She decorated it all by herself."

"Hmhmm," she replied. "It looks very, very nice, but it's all... _reversey_."

Mal struggled with the word for a moment. "Rever—Is she still drugged?"

Simon nodded. "Very much so."

"Ah."

"Not so drugged!" Inara complained. "I can still hear you."

"The drugs wouldn't affect your hearing, sweetheart," Simon reluctantly explained, and said to Mal, "They'll wear off in a few hours."

"Nothin' to fret about, Cap'n," Kaylee said, smiling. "Everything's shiny."

"All right." Mal patted Inara on the ankle. "You get well soon, hear?"

Inara nodded and let her eyes close. "I love you, too, Mal."

Simon and Kaylee exchanged glances that bordered on horrified, then turned to catch Mal's reaction.

Mal backed out of the infirmary, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Good answer," he said, and walked away toward the guest rooms, where Isaiah was collecting the rest of his things.

"I shall be on my way momentarily, Captain Reynolds," Isaiah said.

"No rush," Mal said. "Well, I mean... Yeah, we're gonna be leavin' here in a few, but I'm not gonna chase you out the door or nothin'."

"That's very much appreciated." The Operative stood, meditatively clasping his hands behind his back. "I know this might translate into something wholly offensive, but after everything that's happened... I wish the best for your crew."

Mal snickered. "Things change quickly around here. Yesterday, I would've shot you for sayin' that."

"I have no doubt in my mind." Isaiah slung his pack over his shoulder. "I've left my contact information in the room. Do with it what you will, but should you find yourself in another predicament, I'll gladly do everything within my power to help."

"Hopefully, we never find ourselves in such a predicament again. That'd reflect poorly on us."

"Yes, I would have to agree with you there." Isaiah stopped, and nearly extended his hand, but seemed to decide against it. "Good luck in your travels, Captain."

Mal exhaled, knowing what he had to do. "Hey."

Isaiah turned around, and Mal extended his hand. The Operative reluctantly shook it; tears formed in his eyes.

"Thank you for saving my crew," Mal said. "I feel like there's a place for you here. There'll be a time for that, but it ain't now. The wound's still raw."

Isaiah nodded.

"But I'll keep in touch," Mal continued. "'Cause if there's one thing I've learned from all this, it's that people can change, sometimes for the worse—sometimes for the better."

Isaiah smiled for the first time since he came aboard. "I'm honored by the gesture, Captain," he said. And with a slight bow, he turned away and departed _Serenity_ for the second time.

Mal continued up the stairs and into the dining room: taking notice of all the little ways in which the firefly had changed since he and Zoe had bought it, reminded of all the people who had made this ship a home.

In the cockpit, River was already priming the ignition sequence. It sounded the same every single time she was at the helm. Like a familiar song.

"We almost ready to go, Little One?" Mal asked, plopping down in the copilot's seat.

"Ready and able," she replied without missing a beat. "Have you decided where we're going?"

Mal looked over. "Second star to the right?"

"Our distance from it would be somewhere between twenty-three point eleven and thirty-eight point two light years, which would mean a travel time of over four hundred thousand years." River finished the ignition sequence. "We only have three cans of food left."

"Definitely not enough."

"Definitely."

"Well, we for sure have to get to Berhagen to fuel up. After that..." Mal trailed off. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Can't you tell?"

River squinted, like she was reading his mind. "You really don't."

"Told you."

"We need _somewhere_ to go. Nothing just _ends._"

"Didn't you ever just take a trip to a random place because it sounded right at the time?"

River thought for a second. "Yes. I ended up in a top secret Alliance facility with my brain remapped."

"Okay!" Mal coughed and turned back toward his console, embarrassed beyond expression. "Besides that."

"No, that was the only time." River nodded. "And it brought me here."

Mal smiled at River, despite himself. "How's that workin' out for you so far?"

River smirked, clicked a few buttons and ignited _Serenity_'s thrusters. The firefly shuddered and slowly lifted off the ground.

"Better than I ever thought possible," River answered. As _Serenity _began her ascent, River nodded toward the wall of dust in the distance. "Storm's clearing up."

Mal watched the surface of the moon pull away. "We're about due for clear skies."

"Will you let me know where we're going when you decide?"

"Don't worry, Little One, we'll get there." Mal eased back in his seat. For the first time in a long while, things in the 'Verse felt as right as they could possibly be. He closed his eyes. "Wherever we're goin', we'll get there together."

—

_Serenity_ took to the skies, burning through the atmosphere without much effort. In the silence of space, the firefly hung there, untethered, adrift. Then, blazing with ethereal light, the starship sailed away through the black—twinkling against the darkness before disappearing among the stars.


	20. What Was That?

Mal sat comfortably in the copilot's seat, watching Melinoe's dust ball of an atmosphere drift out of sight through the viewport... when a thought crossed his mind. He looked back down through the corridor, observed the unnatural silence, then turned to River.

"We forgot Jayne, didn't we?"

River looked a bit surprised; her mouth drooped open a little. "I thought you had meant to."

"Nope," Mal replied matter-of-factly and began to lay in the course back to Melinoe. "There'll be another time for that. On his birthday, maybe."

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm left over in the vacuum that was Jayne's absence. When they had finished indulging in the peace of it all, Mal nodded. "All right, let's go back."

**-FIREFLY-**


	21. Closing Notes

**Closing Notes (7-29-12)**

Looking at the publishing date, it really doesn't seem like it's been over two years since I started writing this story. For those of you who have kept up on this throughout the entire process: _I'm very sorry!_

This is pretty much my sendoff for Captain Reynolds and the crew of _Serenity_, and I guess it took so long because I didn't want it to end. _Firefly_ was the basis for the first fanfic I ever wrote on this site (five years ago... dang), so it's fitting that _Take the Sky_ might be one of my last. I've tried to get inside the heads of these characters as much as I possibly could, and I hope the results were favorable. I know I had a blast writing this. An absolute blast.

I'm not getting paid to write this (obviously!), so really, I'm just writing these stories for people to enjoy. If you _did_ enjoy the story, leaving a review or sharing the story helps me out an _immeasurable_ amount. If you _didn't_ like the story, I'd still like to hear why you didn't! I love constructive criticism, positive and negative; to any writer, it's practically currency.

So, again, I hope you had a good time, and that the characters were at least a little close to how they were portrayed in the show. That was my main concern - first and last.

As always, thanks to everyone who gave this story a shot, with special thanks to _Mister Buch_ for the _constant_ encouragement, my hometown friend for his perpetually invaluable feedback (he knows who he is), and _Dark Shaddow_ for reminding me why I started this story in the first place!

And, of course, thanks to Joss Whedon and the cast/crew of _Firefly_ for creating an amazing show that I still manage to get lost in.

Keep to the stars, Browncoats!

-knight


End file.
